My Cat, My Potions Master (aka 'Professor')
by snapemartyr
Summary: Harry Potter discovers his potions professor outside of the Dursleys one fine day during his summer vacation. Begins during the summer before his second year of school. There is, however, a twist. Professor Snape is a cat. NOTE: Takes place the summer before second year while disregarding certain details of the original series- this piece is slightly AU. Enjoy it!
1. The Felled Cat

**{A/N: To those of you following **_**To Give it Time,**_** please continue to follow. Here is a rather light story for those that are not interested in **_**To Give it Time,**_** ha. I wrote this when I was sitting in church and got rather bored with the lesson- shhh, don't say anything. It's a bit fluffy, more so than my normal style, but I love the idea of turning Severus Snape into a black cat, and I simply **_**adore**_** black cats. Please read this. I would truly appreciate your support. In the meantime, while I never get political on the job, also remember that tomorrow is voting day, no matter where you stand! That's all that I will say on that. **

**Happy Snape reading.}**

**Chapter 1-**

_**The Felled Cat **_

The cat tumbled to the ground. Harry didn't want to touch it. He had been sitting in the backyard wondering how he was going to finish all of the chores Aunt Petunia had set for him to complete by dinner when a shadow crossed his path. He had glanced down startled, when he realized that it was in fact a black cat. The animal appeared to be hurt, but he couldn't see the wound. Hovering between the small garden path and the side of the house, it was crouching, humped back lined with fur standing on end forming a half moon. Shiny black eyes rove back and forth while Harry considered the creature. Finally he sighed and rolled his eyes.

"Come here, cat," he muttered. Of course he would have stumbled into a dangerous looking, scrawny black cat just waiting for him seemingly by the Dursley's kitchen. If Aunt Petunia saw him then he would no doubt be washing the kitchen floor three times a day for the rest of the week. Staying low on his knees, he pressed forward, trying to remain in the shadow where the wall met the effect of a larger tree close by.

"Come on. I'm not going to hurt you," he whispered. The cat continued to watch him. It looked calculating somehow, but that was a very strange word to coordinate with an alley cat. Although it didn't look particularly scruffy. It's fur was oily and sleek, and dare he say it- the cat seemed smart. Harry shook his head. Extending a hand carefully, he paused to gauge the cat's reaction.

"Come on. I don't know what's wrong with you, or if you can hear me at all . . . oh, why am I talking to you? Cats- cats don't understand me. Er- right?" The cat merely watched him. Actually, it had grown calmer. The back had dipped back into a typical position so that its form had straightened up to the animal's full height. It's body, sleek, languid. Perhaps he was athletic? "Now I'm really losing it." A glint shined through those orbs. "Ron and Hermione explained why I could talk to snakes, but even for a wizard that isn't normal," he said slowly, while cocking his forefinger to the cat's back, making contact. The cat, didn't move. He sighed. "Well you aren't talking, but you seem to be friendly. Er- well. Not friendly exactly, but not overly aggressive at least." He ran his right hand down its back, barely touching the fur. "Good boy. I assume you're a body," he told it uncertainly. "Can I see your injury?"

Harry had to admit that he still was rather confused as to why exactly he continued to speak. That foolishness he should reserve for school. No one would be able to explain it to him if he somehow managed an experience that would be an indicator of his abnormal tendencies. He wouldn't know if something he caused was even normal for wizards if he set a snake on fire, if birds sprouted from his hat, or- he didn't know what. Nevertheless he thought to himself- it probably wouldn't hurt to try and connect with the black cat.

"I'm going to pick you up. I need to see where your injury is," he said. No response. The cat just stared. Harry felt chills run up and down his spine. He could not stay here with the animal, for if he did it would not be pleasant for either of them, in a very short moment of time. The cat needed some care. He sighed again. Both arms now encircled the creature, whose entire body was stiff.

"Look, I'm sorry," he muttered. "I know that it doesn't suit you." He rolled it eyes up to the sky for a minute. "It really doesn't matter." Gingerly he lifted it off the ground. The cat's ears flattened back a little but it allowed Harry to lift it, albeit that he had not a plan. Well, the shed a few feet away . . . that might serve them, for a short while, at least.

"Why do I always get stuck in these situations?" The question went unanswered, like a doorbell ringing forth in the dead of night, when no one was around to reply. Harry quickly surveyed the area. A neighbor's backside could be seen bending over her flowers a couple of houses down. No one else. Everything seemed clear, so he reached for the animal's thin, rigid body, but if it could, it would spring . . . no, no, the cat wouldn't hurt him. Odd animal though. He picked it up swiftly, unlocked the floor, waited with bated breath. He snuck inside the garage, closing it softly. Not much going on, all was calm. _Okay, cat, I need a light._ It was so crammed that he could not move without bumping into a box of Uncle Vernon's tired old clothing that his aunt kept for Dudley, or Harry if it was an real emergency, like the dinner party where they were forced to bring him.

There should have been a flashlight, or a lantern. A low growling sound alerted him to the black cat's dissatisfaction, and he, smelled danger.

"I'll let you down in a minute." The animal lept from his arms. His fingers slid along to a metal handle. They nimble found a switch, which he flicked. His eyes scanned the plethora of scattered tools and storage.

The cat crept out from between two of them near the back, growling low from a deep place in its stomach, but nonetheless coming towards him.

"Hisss." The tail at the end of the long body flicked slowly , languidly, the back humped, its paws well formed, round and muscular. Harry observed it carefully. The cat stopped, the cold glint in its strange black eyes scrutinizing Harry utterly. He suddenly gasped.

"I know who you look like. Snape!" He exclaimed, still trying to keep his voice low. Those eyes bored lazily into his own. The thought was ridiculous well, wasn't it? Maybe not entirely. The cat blinked at him, a swift motion. "You are Professor Snape?" Was the animal communicating? Horror flooded through his system rapidly. "Why were you crouching? Where are you injured? I didn't know you were an animagus. But if you are, why can't you turn back?" The animal turned around. A patch of red covered on one of its hips near the connected joint of the leg. Harry felt the blood drain from his face. The cat wanted him to heal it?

"You want me to heal you?" Harry whispered. How was he possibly going to work on his potions professor? What if the Dursleys discovered his efforts? He bit his lips. "I suppose I can sneak you into the cupboard with me. The Dursleys hardly ever go in there unless I'm being punished. And that's only when Aunt Petunia wants me to eat." He laughed, mocking himself a little. "Well, come on then. I'm sorry. If you're really Professor Snape then you're going to despise me much more than you already do. Come to think of it, I'm really confused about why you are even at the Dursleys." He frowned, looking at those eyes. Surely it was Professor Snape. He had this horrible, sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. But, he wasn't in a position to give him detention exactly, was he? He wouldn't take fifty points from Gryffindor for his actions. _I am helping him_.

"Er- you'll need to be hidden. I'm- the Dursleyes will kill me if they see you." How was he to explain to Snape? The man- cat- would think him insane. He glanced around. A muggle neighborhood. With the Dursleys, it didn't matter. Everyone thought he was nuts. Crossing over the threshold to the garage, he performed another quick, check. He stopped.

"It's clear. I thought I heard something. Okay. I'm placing you behind my back. I won't drop you." Apparently that didn't register. The cat flew out of his arms once again, kicking him in the chest as it went flying. Before Harry knew it, the animal left the area near the garage, making toward the backdoor of the Dursley's house. It sat, waiting, it seemed-

"You will come in after me?" Harry guessed. The cat was truly bright. "You must be the potions professor." Another blink. "I got it." Hi sized the animal. "Can you follow? Stay back in the shadows. I will try to make straight for my room- but the Dursleys might stop- "

"Boy!" Aunt Petunia screeched. "What are you doing?" He glanced once more at the cat, now standing stock still. The ears were high. It seemed very attentive. Maybe there wasn't too much to worry about. "I'm coming, Aunt Petunia." She stood in the midst of the kitchen with her hands upon her hips. Harry crept in with the cat, watching as it slunk out of the rear.

"Where have you been?" she demanded, as his eyes darted towards the door to the living area.

"Um," he mumbled, scratching his head, "You didn't ask me to do anything except the lawn and the flower bed." She harrumphed. "Took you two hours, did it?"

"No," Harry said, trying to contain his rising anger. But the amount of time it had taken him was of course because of Professor- no, that cat.

"Well, get to work then," she said candidly. Harry mentally ticked off his fingers. "I did everything."

"Set the table," his aunt trilled. Hopefully the animal would find the cupboard. He moved to get the dinner supplies as fast as was, he thought, humanly possible. Where was the professor? _Not the professor! The cat! _Before long he was finished with what she dished out to him, without a pun intended. He cursed the Dursleys to himself because he wouldn't be eating what she put on those plates that he set down for them and that cat would need dinner, as well as some medical assistance.

"Alright, that's enough." His aunt had entered the living room, and was now observing him shrewdly. Harry straightened.

"Go to your room," she commanded." He did.

When he opened the door to the small cupboard situated beneath the stairway, he noticed the black shadow.

"Uncle Vernon must have closed you in. Sorry," he mumbled, scratching his head. The cat had that calculating look. "I honestly don't have anything to give you. I hope you're not really Professor Snape," he muttered, nearly incoherently under his breath. The cat growled low. "Guess that answers my question," he said ruefully. He picked his way over to the cat gently. "It's flaming enough to burn. The area had no fur on it, was raised and anguished looking. The blood appeared to have stopped. The area was red and inflamed, with no skin covering the sore. He must've torn himself on a tree? Or maybe a jag such as a sharp rock. The round feet moved a bit uncomfortably, jerking back and forth insistently, Harry thought. Why would Snape-

"What's wrong, Professor? What do you need?" he bent down closer to the animal, hesitantly closing into its space while the tail flicked once, twice. Harry paused. The tail flicked. The motion was blatantly fervent. He stared down at the cat. It swiveled around slowly. There was in its movements what Harry perceived as an estimation of some kind, as though it knew why each move had gravity. The head tilted, and the cat looked up at Harry keenly. Harry's eyes widened. The cat blinked, knowingly. Harry found himself captivated by those black eyes.

"Alright Prof- can you perform legilimency? Maybe you could talk-er- well . . . " Harry glanced toward the side, prevaricating. "I don't know if you would want- " What was he saying? He shook his head. Of course Snape wanted to perform legilimency on him. He ruffled his hair. The cat growled low in its throat, swatting hard at his left leg. Harry for his part tried to think quickly. His thoughts raced ahead of him, while he simply struggled to grasp one.

"Okay." He passed a hand over his face, keeping his eyes on the shadow his hand created. "I'm acting like a completely idiot. I'm sorry, Professor. Sorry," he muttered, turning around for a moment. "Bloody cat," he added under his breath. The cat batted him again, this time allowing its claws to touch. "Hey," he gasped. "I said I was sorry," he said, although he actually did feel a little bad. After all, the man had turned into a cat. He could do nothing. Well, that wasn't exactly true. Some Neosporin- just go and grab a few sundry items. Snape could let him know if he didn't heal him correctly.

"I'll be right back." Before the cat could scratch him, or worse, bite him if it wanted to, since after all it was his potions professor . . . odd thing that- he should just go get the Neosporin.

The Dursleys were all eating dinner, so it wasn't too difficult to attain all of the different supplies that he thought would benefit his purpose. He reentered the room, and thought to himself that the cat's eyes held disgust. That should not have surprised him too much.

"Right." Harry swallowed. "If you could just come over here, please, I'll apply the medicine." The cat came warily, as though every moment of this action repulsed it. Harry blew a long breath through his teeth. "Right here." The cat turned its back to him. He checked over the area carefully, while moving his hand toward the Neosporin bottle. Harry didn't have much experience healing, in either the muggle world or the wizarding one. "Sit down, if it is more comfortable for you." To his complete surprise, the cat did as he asked. He popped the top off the bottle, placed some of it on his finger, and rubbed it into the sticky area. He breathed deeply.

"Let me know if it hurts." The cat stood stock-still. That oozing, flaring area looked as angry as fire. A slight jerky movement went through the body. It was a small frame. Thin, rather. Surely a reminder of the potions master it was. Harry couldn't help but to think of how well his animagus suited him. Tentatively he continued to rub.

"That will do for the moment." He bit his lip. He then reached behind him for a white bandage. When he had finished, he told cat-potions master,

"I'm going to put these back now, because if I don't the Dursleys might notice."

When he had arrived again, he discovered the cat curled up in the corner furthest from his bed. Harry himself now felt rather tired so, he moved to a small, rickety and bedraggled bureau reaching out, his hand coming to a standstill. His jaw dropped a fraction. For Merlin's sake! He hadn't fed Professor Snape! The worn- cat- would kill him for certain if he hadn't done anything similar before, and all of Harry's prior fears would come to light. Snape would turn him into a potions ingredient if he forgot to feed him and hang him up on the wall with all of those eerie purplish brains and pig ears and whatever else lined those office walls.

"I- I'm sorry that I didn't feed you," he said in a rush. "I didn't do it on purpose," he allowed, knowing that he sounded defensive as the cat's eyes bored into his again in that eerily familiar manner. "I didn't get anything to eat either," he continued in a lower tone. "Look, if you wait awhile I'll be able to sneak something up after the Dursleys have gone to bed." Harry was not extremely happy about this arrangement, but what could he do? The potions master could not chop him up for liver ingredients, or something bizarre, while he was yet a cat. The cat cocked its head, considering or measuring, or planning, something of course dreadful.

"Just rest for now." Harry pulled his clothes out of his top shelf, tucked them under his arms, and snuck out of the room. He changed quickly, did his best to ignore those glowing orbs pinned like a hard drill upon his person, and finally burrowed himself beneath the sheets on his bed. Tonight would be a long one- yet he fell asleep before the warm pillowcase touched his hair.

When he opened his eyes again, Aunt Petunia's voice careened through his door, bursting out like a terrible song through his quiet cupboard. The room never gained any sunlight, but the clock told him seven a.m. He groaned, trying to cover his face, but failing with a grimace at the shrill screeching. When he glanced around Snape appeared in his mind- no, his eyesight, looking fairly bored. His-

"Professor Snape!" His eyes met Harry's coldly. He assumed a negligent stance in his sweeping black robes as though he were tired of listening to the weather.

"Indeed. She always cackles like a hen, does she?"


	2. Spin Away, With a Cat or Spider

_**A special thank you to- **_

**HogwartsRocks, Ginnylove9990, JulieSnape02, hazeldragon, cara-tanaka, rowanlyn-mirrim, Tariono4ka, 13AkiraKuranXIII, and kat.**

**{A/N: Hello again. I am so pleased to note the special reviews and the supporters who have made it possible for me to upload this more quickly. You are all a beautiful inspiration, and I will thank everyone personally, as well as publicly, via the uploads. I want to take a moment to remind readers, or, silly me, perhaps iterate a few items of importance, depending on the individual for the first time:**

**-This story will most likely have a mysterious base of a type, since I tend to like writing in that genre, with new information becoming true at periods. This means essentially, that questions about plot will come out chapter by chapter until we reach a resolution. **

**- The genre will remain as it is for now, but there will be no slash in this piece. **

**- In response to one of my reviewers, who kindly asked how Harry understands the concept of legilimency, please let me stress that although he is situated in the summer before his second year at Hogwarts, I am taking certain details fore granted. Not in a vulgar way, mind you. I simply mean that in a courtesy for the greater picture of this, I will take some liberties as the author. My primary goal will remain keeping the characters in canon, and staying true to the primary principles which makes Harry Potter the great series that it has become, in so many ways. If anyone has suggestions to help me towards this goal, they are wanted and loved =)**

**What will happen in the next chapter? I am pining for the Snape-cat once again. He does suit this so well, don't you think?**

**Until then . . . **

**Disclaimer: None of this is mine}**

**Chapter 2**

_**Spin Away, With a Bat or Spider**_

Harry averted his eyes as soon as he saw the professor looming before him with great, big, bat arms, that spanned over his entire breadth, while he glanced in a fiery semblance of glinting blackness down his hooked nose. The nose was so large, dripping as would a heavy glacier in its arc, blatantly bringing Harry back into Hogwarts so that his fingers curled in the same way they always did when he had been underneath that boring gaze. Harry gulped, not wanting to push back the notion of being within that castle, terrified that he would be enabled to view what was before him. The arms were no longer little paws- this was the man who would make him quake, and yet he found himself to be mesmerized by the professor's fury. He tried to focus on being in Hogwarts now, while all of these confusing feelings filled him up, threatening to choke off his airway. He tried desperately to grasp whatever memories were evoked by the professor's presence so that he did not have to see the real Professor Snape.

"Potter, remove all of these imbecilic notions from your mind," Snape said coldly, although Harry was put under the impression that he was rather bored. "I am not going to hex you, tempting as that idea is. Unfortunately, you and I are not in the best position for such to take place," he sneered. A vein in his temple twitched.

"Sir, how did you get here?" Harry asked. He had a million questions for his professor at the moment, but the most prominent in his mind, was why this, strange occurrence, was happening. He watched the professor with a minute eye for detail, without actually looking him in the face. The professor stood stoic, and straight-backed, but Harry was under the distinct impression that such a man as this would not . . . be totally privy to anything except for the best ways in which to wreak his revenge, for, after all, Harry himself had healed him. Maybe such wouldn't be the case, though. Perhaps he would be completely, and absolutely grateful. Really?

"My aunt does always cackle like a chicken professor," he voiced, while his eyes fell to the ground beneath him. What exactly possessed him to say that he really had no idea, but still- the professor had asked him, hadn't he?

"Potter, I really had no idea," he said, rather dryly. Harry glanced up rather quickly. Essentially the professor had said something that he really didn't understand. He might have been joking. Professor Snape didn't joke.

"No, Potter, that was not a joke," Snape said, sounding very angry for some strange reason. "I might add, that when you healed me last night, you might have used something stronger than Neosporin." The voice, a deep, rumbling bass, trembled through Snape and met Harry's ears. Snape did not say a word, for several minutes.

"Strange, Potter," he said, causing Harry to glance up. "How strange, indeed," he said, enumerating the last word silkily, even in a nefarious way somehow. "I had no idea," the words slowed now, "that you, the Boy-Who-Lived, was so tired of not being brave." Harry was truly confused now. A vein in Snape's temple throbbed dangerously, so he smelled danger, but he didn't know what to do about it.

"You were hurt, Professor!" he practically yelled, at last. "What was I supposed to do?" He might have handled this better without the last phrase, but, really, there could not have been a solution to his predicament. Adding or taking away words with the potions master. Ron would have been laughing his head off. Of course, if Ron could see him now then, truly, he probably wouldn't have believed it. To Harry's utter and complete horror, Snape drew the vision of a long, stick out of his pocket. It was not a vision though. Snape really planned to hex him into next week. Oh, why, had he picked up that cat? Better to have just left it to- Snape's own devices. When the wand was halfway into the air, the long hand paused. Harry was reminded of a spider, creeping up to its web, but finding some prey to catch beneath it.

"Yes, Potter. I was hurt," he said strangely. "And you brought me into a house where I am an unwelcome guest." He smiled unpleasantly." Harry gulped.

"Harrrry!" He winced painfully. Some quick thinking was required, if he planned to have a way out of this current nightmare. How he had allowed this to occur was a total and abject mystery to him. Snape's smile grew.

"Get out here, boooy!" Harry's entire face turned a deep, almost purplish, shade of red. He was so embarrassed.

"I'll be there in a minute!" He yelled back. Then he shot Snape a glare. "If you'll excuse me for a minute, Professor," he said, deliberately emphasizing the last word, "I really need to go do my chores. If I don't then neither of us will get anything to eat later." Snape brushed a lanky strand of oily hair away from his face.

"Potter, dealing with those muggles is not your concern. I will deal with them, and then we will leave this house." Harry shook his head.

"But I have to stay here." He looked at Snape, for a minute, as though he thought him insane. "What will Professor Dumbledore think?" A tick in Snape's jaw became prominent.

"I would in no way dispute such, Potter!" He spat. "I do not take issue with Professor Dumbledore." His eyes narrowed at Harry, but Harry did not say anything in return. But, he felt daring. And well he tried to turn the conversation.

"Will you turn into a cat again, Professor?" He smiled, just a little and thinly veiled, without enough humor to let it show.

"Boooy!" Footsteps thundered down the hall towards his bedroom. Harry involuntarily stepped back as a meaty fist was raised to his bedroom door, as though he could see that hammer.

"Step back, Potter," Snape ordered. Harry clearly saw the lines of Professor Snape's poignantly , harshly etched features as he rose to his full height, wincing in a nearly imperceptible, what appeared to be a quick blink, his robes molding into a bat now in every fantasy that Harry had ever wished, or not wanted fulfilled while he essentially became a book figure. He did not think that vampires really existed in the magical realm, but this particular phenomenon proved something that Harry did not fully understand in that moment. The thunderous sound of the clock ticking on his bedroom wall gave him a sense that time hung in the air only for them. He shrank back behind the bedpost as the door slammed open.

Uncle Vernon barreled through more quickly than such a fat, overweight man should have been able to roll, but he nevertheless went through the frame in a cantankerous manner. The clothes he wore dripped in a singularly funny fashion, as though even in his business attire the man knew little about size, or that of his own, the shiny buttons on the front nearly bursting in a pretty array of gold splitting at his stomach. Small pants cut off above shiny gold and silver shoes completed the picture of an overweight, glorified man with a sense of style, with a twitching mustache that was so well defined. Harry knew he had spent over an hour shaving it into that perfect bow shape.

"Where are you, boy?" His beady eyes rove around the room like a whizzing fly before they landed on Harry. "Your aunt has been calling you for over an hour, she says." The two mean little, fervently moving marbles narrowed. "What have you been doing, eh?" Harry thought that he could smell a sweat scent, such as perfume, clinging to his uncle. Perhaps he had bought, a new type of cologne when he had visited the new-minted, what those on _Adwood, Boulevard_, called a 'fresh scent, as shiny as a new minted penny,' store. The thought was hilarious. He wanted to burst out in raucous laughter at the exact moment the smell reached his nose, but then Uncle Vernon spotted something else- Professor Snape, standing in his room.

Immediately, without even taking the time to assess the situation, Uncle Vernon pointed a fat finger at the black-clothed man crying,

"You- it's one of your lot!" His voice shook with imminent anger, although whatever that promised, Harry knew would not work in his uncle's favor. His flabby face suffused with a dark purpling that swept through his body even to his hands, which shook, he continued speaking, while Harry himself watched Snape with interest. Words rolled out of the man's mouth almost incoherently, and Severus Snape had a bored expression merely resting upon his face. "How dare you- come in here- and try to take my nephew . . . you can have him as far as we're concerned. Petunia and I cared for him, took him in as our own, and what did we get for it? Some ruddy owls. And then a giant something or other took him- said he was a- what do you call that- never saw anything less normal- " Suddenly Uncle Vernon stopped talking, although his mouth moved up and down like a rogue fish, gasping out of the water. Harry looked up at Snape and realized that he had silenced his uncle with a silent charm of some kind. Uncle Vernon grabbed his throat with both of his hands, shooting the professor a hateful glare.

"Listen to me, muggle," Snape said boredly. "It matters little whether or not you actually have any interest in keeping Mr. Potter under your roof, or why you have taken him." He cast Harry himself a spiteful look, but Harry barely paid any attention to him. He now observed the interaction with great interest, as his uncle's face changed skin color almost completely. He would have burst out laughing if the situation were not so serious. "I was sent here as a cat on Professor Dumbledore's orders, so as to assist in protecting Potter from danger that he perceives will fall upon him this year," Snape sneered. Harry looked at Snape curiously. "Un-fortunately," he continued softly, his eyes pinned on Harry now, causing Harry to swallow as those dark tunnels bored into him, "this plan seems to have backfired, to an extent." Although he waited with baited breath for further information, Snape did not explain. "In light of this Potter will be forced to come with me in order to escape your good graces." He flicked his wand once more, and drew himself up to his full height.

"Vernon? Who are you talking to?" Aunt Petunia had sidled into the room behind her husband. Her wild, frizzy hair tamed into a prim bun that did nothing to make her appear like a beautiful muggle with all of their hair-products and creams, the mousy look about her face and that mess on her head without any color, a pale frizz that fell short of a greater attempt, her face enduring a suspicion, caused Harry to once again muffle his imprudent laughter.

"No one, Petunia. Just this bloke who's going to take the boy from us," he said, his voice inundated with a glee that would be hard to decipher to any other observer, but Harry understood the rapid change in his uncle's demeanor. When she came into view of the professor, she cried,

"You!" Her face suddenly went pale.

"Me." Snape sneered. Harry glanced between them curiously. Recognition in his aunt's eyes mirrored that in Snape's except for the fact that the potions master held a hatred that was indecipherable, alighting his entire face, making him seem nearly demonic. Harry had seen that look on his face only when directed towards himself, but in his mind, the fire in his eyes now had been enhanced tenfold. He despised her clearly, and deeply. A silence almost too heavy to be born settled over the room for a few malicious moments.

"I thought you were one of them," she hissed finally.

"You were correct," Snape said, in a soft voice, which glistened with danger. Harry could nearly see it hanging in the air, like a snake poised for attack. He turned, ignoring Harry's aunt and uncle swiftly, as though he had eliminated them both from the conversation. His eyes locked onto Harry, who met his gaze evenly now, his head spinning.

"Come, Potter." His mouth felt dry, like a burnt piece of toast lingering upon his tongue.

"But my trunk, and my owl."

"_Accio_ Potter's trunk!" Snape spat. A moment later, the trunk came zooming toward them. He turned toward Harry. "Free the owl from its cage. She will know where to find us." Nervously, he did as he was told. Hedwig had not been allowed out of her confines all summer, so he knew that at the very least, she would enjoy more than he was, about all of this . . .

He unlatched the window a few meters away, setting the door to the large cage beside it on its hinge. The amber eyes behind the bars glared at him suspiciously. It made him feel a little sad.

"Go on girl," he whispered. Then, as though afraid that he would change his mind, Hedwig hopped to the edge of her bar nearest the door, and flew out. She spread her wings past the barrier of his room on private drive, crossing the threshold of the small window, and soaring out into the bright, sunny morning. He watched her until she became a dot in the distance. Then he turned back around. Snape was watching him with a sour expression. He held out one of his swathed arms. Harry stared at him confused.

"Take my arm, Potter. We are going to apparate. If you've never done it before," he said snidely, "you are in for a treat." Harry's eyes darted between him and the Dursley's for a split second. Uncle Vernon's face was glowing with happiness. He took a deep breath, and then stuck one of his arms out, grasping the potions master tightly.

They were spinning . . .


	3. In His House

_**A Special thanks to:**_

_**Kat, Hazeldragon, cara-tanaka, Ginnylove9990, JulieSnape02, and notwritten**_

_**{A/N: Occlumency will be brought in a little sooner than expected. I think that Snape has become quite the driver, and that Harry is certainly going to be in true form of the JKR struggler he is. Please let me know what you think so far. I always love you! And beg for input. I think that, soon, it will be taking a twist that is most unexpected.}**_

_**Additionally: please remember, readers, that if you don't log in, I am not able to reply to your review, and you know I do enjoy providing a message for your efforts! Thanks!**_

_**{Disclaimer: This does not belong to me of course}**_

_**Chapter 3 ~**_

_**In His House**_

Professor Snape had become a cat over night. Alright, so the chanting had never let up in Harry's head- Professor Snape had become a cat! Now they were spinning, although no one had any idea why, away from the Dursleys for certain, and this made no sense to Harry Potter whatever. How could Professor Dumbledore have ordered the potions master to Number Four, Private drive as an animal, so that the bat of the dungeons, even though he was now a cat, with these ideas that could not make any sense to anyone do this? Well, perhaps the situation did not lend itself to the worry that would seem necessary on the outside. After all, spinning upon some imaginary point into space hanging on Snape's arm must be extremely irritating for him, and regardless of all of the ideas that seemed to be outlandish that concerned his current predicament, he was truly surprised that Snape had allowed this. Out of everything the potions master may or may not have determined about where they would go in the plan that Dumbledore had set down for them, whatever minute details he had been able to work out, Harry was sure that not everything, now, certainly not this apparition, had gone his way.

"Potter, why are you simply standing there?" Snape asked him brusquely with a bite of venom dripping from his mouth that Harry thought he might be able to see if words were poison, "We are done. Follow me," he ordered, shaking him off of his arm. Harry nodded his head while inwardly cursing Snape into infinity, or some deep, dark place that he had never before been or understood himself, but had appeared in his mind as a cavern- with purple bats flying around that darted towards Snape, pulling at his black robes. Seeing Snape being torn apart by millions of rogue creatures in this manner, Harry smiled. Surely this was cheerful enough, and he followed him mutely as his own image entertained him for a bit.

It was a beautiful, sunny park, much to Harry's surprise, in which they had apparated- that was the word, it was. He was not entirely in his own mind, despite his imaginings, for he thought that his entire body might spin out of his control if he did not rest for just a minute.

"I need to sit down for a minute," he gasped, while he thought he might sick up even still. The apparition rule was a nasty one, for he never had any knowledge of vacuum cleaners quite so intimately as he did at present. A moment ago, he had placed all of his energies into a tight hose from a muggle vacuum cleaner, without question. The sensation of being squeezed too tightly for breath to suffuse his lungs, to inhale or exhale even for a minute, had been absolutely revolting. He was sure that in those few seconds of life being pulled through air without grounding of any type had smashed his body to the size of a slim, board.

"Really?" Snape sneered, turning back around. Harry couldn't help but to notice that his face was slightly paler than usual. He wondered, as he sank onto a park bench- which conveniently jumped behind him before he hit the ground from its original position- whether Snape was still affected by the wound that he had not successfully healed while he had been yet a cat. He walked back to Harry now, his black eyes calculating, darted backward and forward about the area, even though there was not a soul in sight. What Snape might be looking for in actuality, he did not want to try fathoming, so he forced his mind away from that idea. The hair around his face had become plastered to his forehead somehow, and Snape was panting slightly. Harry couldn't help but to think on the idea that as a cat, that black hair had probably not been washed in many days.

"If you are quite done, Potter, then we will be moving along," he told him softly, those cold eyes resting upon him once more. Harry looked away from him, realizing that he had been staring, his face flushed.

"Alright, sir." Woozily, he attempted to stand, and was successful, after a minute. Then he made an effort to get his bearings straight. He allowed his eyes to roam over the slides and the fallen sets of swings, some entirely flipped upside down, as though they had been ravaged by storm, others muggle teenagers frolicking. Beyond the gates outlining the park, with missing metal sections prominently displayed in several places, a long street outlined by two story houses of whitewash composed the neighborhood. However, from what Harry could see of it, it appeared to be nearly deserted. Not a car sat in any of the driveways, which paved the bottom parts of the house sides in a lazy manner beneath the sun, sleeping beneath darkened windows. Was this where Snape lived? He pushed that thought away quickly, losing sight of the potions master for a period, until he realized that Snape had taken the route in the other direction, leading out of the left side entrance of the park gates.

"Hurry up, Potter!" he snapped. Since he seemed to be in a particularly foul mood, Harry ran to catch up, stumbling slightly, although for safety measures, remaining one or two feet behind him.

"Is this where you live?" Harry asked. The thought of dwelling in his quarters seemed a bit abhorrent, yet he could not put the lid on his curiosity. Professor Snape looked down his nose at Harry, missing his mark by two feet though since he was not walking at his side.

"Unfortunately Potter, it behooves you in this moment to keep any ideas that may be swimming around in your head at bay," he said in a soft and dangerous tone, "unless you enjoy cleaning out my dungeon quarters, since you will be- " he said, emphasizing the last phrase, "for the remainder of this year, if you continue to ask me questions about my personal arrangements." _Personal arrangements_, Harry fumed to himself. As though he'd want anything to do with Snape's personal arrangements, involving himself in the crux of them. What a crude notion. Nonetheless, he kept himself quiet, for fear that Snape might actually having him cleaning the dungeons for the entirety of the coming school year. What would Hermione say if he placed himself into such a position already? He could already hear her voice ringing through his ears. '_Harry, you know that Professor Snape only has your best interests at heart. He's only doing what he's doing because Professor Dumbledore probably asked him to,' she said reasonably, 'I'm sure there's a very good explanation. You could at least refrain from provoking him.'_

Snape had come to an abrupt stop. Harry, following behind, nearly ran right into him, but caught himself just in time. They were standing upon the walk of one of the houses on the block that appeared from the outside to be in even worse shape than some of the others he had seen, with broken windows lining the bottom half between pain-chipped walls covering loose boards, that threatened to fall off in several places. He glanced at Snape curiously. His pallid face was screwed in consternation. He noticed his lips moving, although, a sound could scarcely be heard within the low murmurings streaming from his mouth. He then withdrew his wand in a rapid motion, waving it in a great arc about the vicinity. When he had finished, several lights flashed about the house itself. After waiting a minute, Snape motioned him forward with a spidery extension of one hand.

Nervously, he followed him up the walk to the front door of the abode. When they entered Harry immediately felt inundated in a sense of foreboding dark. The house sounded suppressing, rather than merely being such.

He crept in quietly behind Snape.

"_Lumos_," Snape snarled. At once, an array of lights flashed on. Harry shielded his eyes from the blinding rays of a chandelier next to him, situated nearly on top of his head, hanging so low from the ceiling that he guessed that it had been suspended magically to suit the taste of the owner. In this case, however, he thought, looking dubiously at Snape, perhaps that was a bit of a moot point.

"I would suggest that you make yourself at home, Potter," Snape told him sardonically, flashing him a look of disgust, "but as you can see, most of the furniture is occupied at present." Harry glanced around at the said furniture he indicated, and noted that indeed, boxes strewed over many of the hazardous chairs scattered about the room, some of which were missing legs, a couch that looked lopsided, as though someone had sat upon one side for too long, taking up nearly the entirety of the living space. He thought that the area vaguely resembled that in Uncle Vernon's garage. Even with the lights on, however, the darkness in the enclosed space consumed him.

A fluttering in the distance made him jump back toward the door. He had a bad feeling that he didn't want to know what types of creatures might inhibit a living that had some kind of affiliation with Snape. He heard a dripping coming from one of the walls that he could not see. Shadowy crevices high above his head, within beams that created the infrastructure of the building, had been smoothed by cobwebs, giving them a softer touch. Harry shivered. Around the shadowy junctures where walls met on between the floor and sides were more cobwebs than he had ever seen, some stretching entire yards he imagined. All of this added to the erstwhile claustrophobic spirit of the place that now threatened to overwhelm him. Darkness sunk into the walls at one time, or perhaps over a longer period of several decades, and now went out to meet him in a life of its own. Harry didn't have to see it to know its presence.

Snape now moved about the cluttered boxes of storage, muttering incantations that Harry could not decipher under his breath. He waved his wand in a complicated motion, which involved a series of shape drawings, at least it seemed so from what Harry could see, and pocketed his wand. His eyes met Harry's once more.

"Well, Potter. Have a seat, if you can find one." A small smile was playing about his mouth that made Harry's mouth go dry. Why did it smell like death of some sort, in here? Then he remembered.

"Where is my trunk? I don't remember bringing it with us."

"Ah yes. The Golden Boy's things," the potions master sneered, and Harry felt a torpid anger bubbling inside him. "Here, Potter. I think this should suffice." He drew one of his hands into a long pocket deeply set in the dark robes, and pulled out a miniature trunk. He whispered an incantation, and Harry's trunk immediately went back to its full size. Harry gaped.

"A simple spell." Snape waved a hand. "Now, if you will, take a seat. There is much to discuss about our arrangements." Harry quickly scouted out an armchair, and perched at the end of it, ignoring the large box behind him. He focused his attention on Snape, trying not to look in his eyes. Snape was quiet for a moment.

"Well, Potter," he said finally, brusquely. "It seems that Professor Dumbledore's plan did not go according to his satisfaction- "

"What plan was that?" Snape's eyes narrowed.

"Sir, Potter," he said softly. "Watch your step."

"Sir," Harry added quickly. He watched him calculatingly for a moment.

"That is for you and Professor Dumbledore to discuss," he said. Harry's anger resurfaced, speeding like lightning through his system.

"With all due respect, sir, I think that I have a right to know why I was taken away from the Dursleys."

"You would prefer to go back, Potter? I assure you, that taking you back is not a problem, with me." Harry was quiet. "However-" Snape cast him a swift glance, before stepping away from him. He started to revolve around the room, his black robes sweeping around him like some kind of a thundercloud . . . or worse. "It would seem that circumstances did not go according to the Headmaster's plan. While you were in fact, and still are in an unsavory position, despite the regret we all must feel at your unfortunate- ah, problem, it has become clear that you are not safe at the moment with your relatives." Harry's anger heightened. He had an 'unfortunate problem?'

"I really think that I should know if I- " he tried rapidly, but Snape silenced him once more. He raised a hand, while his eyes bored into Harry oddly.

"Do not, interrupt me, Potter." He was under the distinct impression that Snape was absolutely enjoying this. "You have always been particular, have you not? Some might say- special." Harry felt his body heating up, and he thought it would be a miracle if the rage he endured did not erupt at any given moment. After all, hadn't Snape himself just appeared at the Dursley's the day before in need of his, Harry's assistance? He had risked the possibility of doing chores into next week with a double list on his hands from his aunt, just because he had tried to heal the scrawny cat. Well, a 'thank you' may have been too much to hope for, but perhaps less loathing would be appreciated.

"Whatever the case may be, the Dark Lord has always loved to wreak revenge upon those who betray him. You discovered this at the end of last year. Need I remind you of those events?" Harry looked up at Snape, wondering exactly how much Snape knew of those events, but he didn't dare say anything. "Therefore," he said slowly, watching Harry evenly, "Professor Dumbledore required me to come to your house, so that I would be enabled to watch over the vicinity unseen, in the case that something extraordinary should happen, and needless to say, it did." There was a question burning in Harry's eyes. Snape however, did not elaborate. Silence hung in the air between them. Finally,

"Due to the fact that you managed to control that to some extent, this time I will refrain from taking house points."

"Your welcome, sir," Harry said. Snape's eyes narrowed. Inside, he wanted to crack up if he were perfectly honest. For just a split second, he thought that he had surprised him with his response. An odd way to add levity to the situation.

"Professor Dumbledore also requested of me that I teach you Occlumency," he told him.

"What's that- " Suddenly something occurred to him.

"Wha- how long will I be staying with you?" he asked, confused. Snape smiled, his lips forming into a long and slow crescent moon painfully.

"For the remainder of this summer."


	4. Coal Might Be Better

_**A special thanks goes out to:**_

**Hazeldragon, JulieSnape02, HogwartsRocks, Ginnylove9990, cara-tanaka, hkeas, 13AkiraKuranXIII, notwritten, PinkMusicalCherry, yamiduke13, and RatchetsGirl for their reviews!**

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**Be chipper. Have fun with it.**

**Brooke~**

**And again, please note that every detail will not be according to the original novels. My primary concern is characters that are as close to canon as it is possible to be. Enjoy =)**

_**Chapter 4- **_

_**Coal Might Be Better ~ **_

_Harry would be staying with Snape for this entire summer. It was too much to comprehend, and he really could not understand why he needed to open up the valve in his ability to absorb the knowledge. Despite the fact that he knew he was sitting among dirty, dingy boxes yellowed out from days of neglect, the fact that they belonged in the house of his potions master seemed the very notion of haywire, as if connections were shooting all around the room, drawing the cobwebs in the it together. They intertwined with each other over the junk surrounding him, and he did not know how he was sitting here in Snape's house while spiders crawled out from these long threads of spider silk, looking down at him. They were giant, fuzzy black specimens that would have made Ron bury his head beneath his pillows for the rest of his life. These large, fat bugs that had been hiding in the potion master's house for years descended upon him, from without and within the storage. Their webs began circling around him tightly as the spiders drew their nests over him, their prey. The threads swung over him, and Harry watched with horror, wondering all the while whether the yellow boxes were actually a part of Snape's history and what they held. Secrets. The house was filled with secrets that he would never work out, and the boxes taunted him, letting him know that he would never explore them . . . _

_ In his mind, he knew that the spiders and the dingy clutter had nothing to do with reality. Harry knew that the spiders were not trying to grab him, for how could anything make an attempt to suffocate him in the living room? He was slightly confused. Yet nevertheless, the darkness in the room was overpowering him, and he was no longer feeling so utterly sane. Perhaps, the chaotic environment was not playing a trick upon him. Perhaps Snape's house was in fact enchanted to wreak vengeance upon him. The imaginings he had were becoming reality. He could no longer distinguish between the two. He should probably just bury himself within the folds of the bedcovers upstairs, or if he could not find a bed, then he should hide in a corner behind the boxes, so that he could escape the evil predators raining down upon him . . . _

"_Potter." Harry nearly jumped visibly, as a moving shadow crept through this entire nightmare, moving towards him. He did not want to speak to the potions master. Snape leered at him through the gloom. "It is late, Potter," he said in a low tone, "why are you not in bed?"_

_ "Is it time for bed, sir?" _

_ "It is always time for bed, Potter." Harry could now hear the heavy voice threading through his ears, and he knew this must have been a bad dream. "An eternal bed from which you will never wake up." He brandished his wand. _

Harry woke up. His heart pounded madly against his chest, until he realized that he was in fact, lying on a rollaway cot that he himself had chosen when he'd scouted out all of the spare rooms. He took a few moments to quiet his breathing, looking around the small space with a scowl dripping from his lips. The reason he had dreamed about the potions master in this bizarre manner remained a mystery. Yet he still felt that a terrible omen had been placed upon his head after he had crawled out from the dream, that didn't seem to want to leave him. Harry was afraid that the spiders had really nearly killed him, and that the boxes were taunting his adventurous side, threatening to kill it . . . there was, still, so much that he wanted to know about this. He was understandably curious about his new environment, for he never had known that Snape lived like a normal person. The last idea had a wry tone to it, but of course, no one really needed to know that. It suited him well enough to think that the potions master was in fact a surreal bat of the dungeons that lived in the manner of one.

A crash suddenly resounded. Harry jolted upright, his heart becoming a madman's axe with the speed of a terrible troll hurtling towards him. He realized a minute later, that, the thrumming of his wild imagination was the cause. He cocked his ears, but everything was quiet, and he knew that he must have imagined it. The house was eerily silent. Quietly, so as not to disturb the quiet once again, afraid of what he might run into if he sought out the cause, he stood up. As the covers fell away, Harry's footsteps met the floor, where shadows danced beneath the moonlight window as though they were sending him a signal. Sucking in his breath, he attempted to ignore whatever signal that might be, steadied his roiling mind the best that he could, and left.

Snape's house had two stories, so he could easily use the thick banister to look down upon events which the potions master probably didn't want him to see, much to his satisfaction. To his shock, he saw the professor clearly among the boxes within the living area, tending to some kind of a large wound on his arm. Harry leaned over slightly, trying to get a better view. The red spot on his pallid arm grew to twice its original size when he came into the soft light of the room. Harry's eyes widened. Professor Snape was applying a substance upon it from a minuscule, short fat bottle that he didn't recognize. His face was screwed tight with pain as the liquid splashed onto the gaping red sore, and he let out a low hiss between his teeth.

Harry knew that he should retreat to his room, but the bare hallway did not provide an image nearly as interesting as watching the potions master. Snape extended the arm, his eyes now focused upon the egg-sized cut, and began to chant in a language he did not understand. He pulled his wand from his pocket a split-second later, rapidly moving the thin piece of wood across it in a few slashes as he continued murmuring his spell in a song-like tone. Confused by the sight but mesmerized, due to the fact that he had never seen music utilized in spell-casting before, he continued to watch. Apparently it did not work in this instance though, because Snape now allowed the wand to fall from his grasp, panting just loud enough to be heard. Then he cursed loudly. He raised his head, an ugly scowl deeply ingrained on his lips, stretching about his entire face-

"Potter!" Harry blanched, his heart beginning to pound again. He knew that he would never get out of this circumstance. He'd be lucky if Snape didn't use one of those spells that involved a song upon him, but in his case they would not be used for healing. Perhaps he would enchant the dingy spider webs to come down hungrily upon him to devour him. His dream sequence would stir to life.

"I was just- " He cast around furtively for an excuse, willing anything to come to his mind. "I was getting a glass of water."

"Really?" he sneered. His black eyes bored into Harry's own, and Harry fought hard not to look away. "Then perhaps, Potter, you would not stand on the stairs seeking about for the kitchen. Very few houses actually have a kitchen on the second floor."

"I know that, sir," he said in a low tone, balling his hands into fists at his sides. He knew of course that there was no way out of this situation. He would need to go downstairs and get a cup. Keeping his eyes carefully trained in front of him, he let his hand slide along the banister as he made his way down, slowly. He refused to look at the potions master while he progressed, although he could tell by his peripheral vision that he had sat down on one of the cluttered sofas. He could hear him breathing laboriously. His curiosity getting the better of him as he walked into the room, he glanced over at the wound on Snape's arm that he had not yet been able to heal. Before Harry could stop himself he blurted,

"Is that the same wound that I tried to heal when you were a cat?" He looked at Harry, a frown that seemed permanently etched out on his face making crude cuts into Snape's pale-white skin. His whole face was an interesting mystery to Harry. The many creases that ran between the eyes and the nose were so engaged by his elaborate expressions. Harry imagined that same face twisting up into an evil smile between two patches of long whiskers in a furry face, and had to stifle a laugh as it threatened to burst from him.

"What, pray tell, do you find humorous Potter?" he asked him in an eerily calm tone. Harry detected danger, but as he looked at Snape, the idea of him dashing toward him as a black cat created an irony that impacted him so strongly it caught him off guard. To his horror, a chuckle burst from him that he could not stop, and he quickly turned away, his hand covering his mouth. A large box to his right then sporadically seemed to appear at him from this angle, flaunting a lacy napkin at him, that swayed precariously out of the top like the gloved hand of a lady. The top flaps were yellowed, so he somehow had the impression that life was now working against him. He remembered the yellow boxes from the dream. Before his imagination could put forth any more spirited versions of Snape, he managed to force his expression back to a neutral appearance, to his relief.

"I'll just go and get my glass of water, sir," he said, in a tone that he prayed sounded respectful. As he made towards the door to what he assumed was the kitchen though, Snape's voice wafted over to him,

"You better watch that you do not grab anything which is mine, Potter." Harry paused, looking back at Snape strangely. He was staring directly at him, with his arms crossed. A most peculiar gleam stirred in his eyes that Harry did not trust. But what choice did he have? Hesitantly, he turned back toward the chipped white door. When his hand reached the handle, he thought better of the action though, as a voice that sounded distinctly like Hermione's warned him not to do anything rash. After all, he wasn't terribly thirsty. Snape had given him a meal earlier in the day that had sufficiently provided for those needs, to his vague surprise. However, he was not sure that Snape would be completely averse to cursing something with a label such as _'S.S._' upon it.

Harry turned back around, hesitation rippling over his features. He slowly moved his head up to meet Snape's face. He glared at Harry for a moment. Then his face morphed into the epitome of what he assumed was a thin smile that nonetheless caused him some amount of anxiety. The arm with the bleeding red spot moved upward, and again displayed the ugly wound, now looming at him. Before Harry knew what had happened, the gaping denture in Snape's arm grew darker, as the white and red became a black, and he now stood staring down at a cat . . .

That wound which he'd seen impacted his mind in an odd manner. The cat turned its tunnel-black eyes to him, and its lips stretched out in what looked to be a leer, but it did not appear humorous upon Snape, and leering did strike him to be utterly acceptable. The animal placed a paw on the whitewash and pushed through. Shaking his head vigorously, Harry followed the animal, taking deliberately slow steps while he dragged in after him.

The cat jumped onto one of the shabby counters as soon as they entered. Glancing around, he realized that this room may in fact have been one of the more upscale of those in Snape's house. He could depict areas on the cabinets where elegant paintings had once hung, although why there were paintings hung on the cabinets he could not fathom. However, thin, ornate silver frames had been set upon their small doors, flaunting what used to be depictions of witches with black hair- raven black hair. He stared at the pictures . . . Snape's mother. He looked at cat-Snape. He wasn't really Snape anymore was he? An animal had taken the potion master's place, and now regally sat directly across from him, staring at him with black eyes. The idea of imagining it was only a cat rapidly dissipated.

To his astonishment, the cat jumped down and began circling the rusted blue tiles, flicking its tail back and forth.

"What do you want me to do?" Harry asked, baffled at the movement. He scratched his head in confusion, taking a step back while Snape's eyes stared at him out of the black face of fur. The red gash stood out poignantly against the thin frame, small drops of blood trickling from it. The idea occurred to him that maybe he should just try to leave when the cat turned its back. But the next minute, Snape had pawed open a cabinet beneath the sink on the floor, slunk into it, and then returned with a can of what looked like some kind of green powder. Taking it between his teeth, he set it on the floor, then glared at it for several minutes. Harry's eyes trailed the cat's movements. Curiosity had taken over his entire body, rooting him to the spot. The cat's eyes were set upon the jar, transfixed. Slowly, Snape placed one of his paws into the powder, removed it, and then, stretched his neck over. He then proceeded to groom himself, to Harry's disgust, albeit in an extremely methodical way.

The green powder spread across the cat's back at his movements. Snape continued to lick himself, driving the substance closer to the wound on his side. Harry watched uncertainly. The cat licked vigorously, but the powder did not extend to the red gash. He knew by instinct that the cat-Snape was attempting to heal himself in some bizarre manner, though why he needed to do it as an animagus he couldn't imagine. Finally he halted, hissing and spitting.

Tentatively, Harry walked over to the animal. The black head turned towards him, the eyes narrowed to slits.

"Well . . . " he muttered. "If you erm, want me to." Gleaming orbs of black again locked onto him. Snape's rigid form stood erect, and Harry felt as though he were daring him to come any closer. Watching him warily, he reached out, and rubbed the powder into the wound, trying not to touch it too much, lightly pressing it into the gash with his fingers. Harry stared at his work, but nothing happened. Then he noticed a change, and realized that the wound was moving, twisting grotesquely into itself, as though an invisible hand were knitting it together. Finally, all that remained was a thin gray line, the gash having taken on a life of its own to complete its work. The cat began circling slowly around the bottle, becoming enveloped by a black smoke soon after. Infused within the suffocating cloud, Harry reared back into the cabinets, while a tall, thin robed form stepped out of the whirlwind. A minute later and the smoke dissipated, vanishing into the air around them. Snape pulled back the robe of his arm and held it out to the light. Harry watched quietly.

Save for a few minor scars, the angry redness had faded from the potion master's alabaster white skin. Apparently satisfied, Snape placed his arm again at his side, allowing the robed sleeve to once again fall down over it. Without a word, he bent over to the jar, moving to replace it from where he had been keeping it in the cabinet.

"What was that?" Harry asked him.

"What, Potter?" he asked boredly.

"The powder. And why did you need to turn into an animagus to heal yourself with whatever it was?" he asked. Snape stared back at him for a minute.

"It was a healing powder," he said abruptly. "The powder is known as _Invectus Septimum_, and was created for heal minor cuts to large cuts on animals that are no deeper than two inches," he said, sneering the last two words. "I turned back into an animagus, Potter, because obviously, as I'm sure you've already deduced, I was unable to in my human form." Ignoring him after this, Snape retreated from the kitchen. Harry contented himself with looking around the kitchen for a few moments, battling against himself and his burning desire for answers.

Making up his mind, he left the kitchen as well, following Snape out into the living room. The startlingly pale man was resting against the sofa situated beneath a dingy window directly across from him. Harry couldn't help thinking that he looked rather like a vampire, barely breathing beneath that white exterior.

"You knew that you couldn't do it as a cat, so why didn't you just ask for help?" he forced himself to ask. Snape's eyes snapped open immediately. He flashed him a smirk, though there was something strange about the twist in his mouth that Harry couldn't quite put his finger on.

"That is none of your concern. But for your own information to put away sometime in the future, let us suffice it to say that you, Potter, are a terrible healer." Harry shook his head, in bewilderment. "But I did it better than you did," he stated baldly. Snape scowled at him. There was a beat of silence. Then,

"No, Potter, I assure you that you did not. If you will attempt patience, then you will soon see the effects of touching _Invectus Septimum_," he snarled, with less vigor than usual as his eyes snapped shut. Harry's stomach roiled in anger, which bubbled into horror soon after, as Snape's words sunk in. He now understood. The cat had leered at him before it went into the kitchen. What if he had been poisoned? He glanced at the demonic twist in Snape's mouth, trying furtively to think of what his next move should be, while his mind rushed forth with all kinds of terrible ideas, gleaned primarily from his overactive mind, which put Snape to the forefront once again. An oozing red sore, yellowed boxes, the stretch of a cat's smile . . . and the sight of an exhausted and extremely irritable Professor Snape.

"What do you mean?" Harry asked finally, almost afraid of Snape's answer.

"Various manifestations have been reported," he muttered, a light smile tracing his face. His eyes snapped open, and locked onto Harry's green ones. "We shall have to wait and see." He thought that Christmas might have come for Snape by the sparkle in the coal-black eyes. And he suddenly wished that he had it in his power to put a large clump of coal in his stocking. He nearly grinned, pleased with the idea, thinking of the image of a large clump of it dirtying the potion master's hands one morning. Coal giving.

Although he sobered almost immediately, for a split second, it was certainly a better image than the potions master gave to him.


	5. It All Comes Into the Light

**A special thanks to: JulieSnape02, hazeldragon, Ginnylove9990, Zireael07, and cara-tanaka for their splendid reviews! Keep them coming please! I am having such fun playing around in Snape and Harry's twisted world, and your support makes it even more twisted and engaging for me =)**

**Brooke ~**

**{Disclaimer: As per usual, none is mine}**

**Chapter Five:**

**It All Comes Into the Light ~**

Harry leaned over the sofa, in order so that he might better be able to reach his toes. While he made a rather misled attempt to tie his shoes to his feet, Professor Snape stood up, and came over to him. As Harry fumbled several times, the man in black seemed to glide towards him, like a ghosting shadow in the room of cobwebs. A fire had been lit in the dark room, providing a merry crackle that cast light upon the man's features, and as he reached him, Harry looked up into those gleaming black eyes. They were such an interesting color, he thought vaguely, now that he had an unfortunate chance to study him, although he could not help but to give vent to his interest as he sat here musing over what had happened in the kitchen. All of the mystery surrounding this strange circumstance was virulent, as though a force had invigorated his very blood. Why had he taken him away from the Dursley's? There had to be a reason. Other than working through Professor Dumbledore's orders, he would even venture to say. Shadows danced throughout the enclosure, which were magnified tenfold by the flames. The many boxes that scattered about the area made Harry think that invisible fingers were seeping out from all of the man nooks and crannies that swept throughout and about the air around him, itching to grab him through the dark air. He could nearly feel them as they tickled his neck.

He shook himself roughly, scolding his thoughts in a tone uncannily like Hermione's. '_Stop playing games, Harry.' _He would even go so far as to guess at her note-taking abilities, willing to bet a hefty sum that she would pull out a little book and pen at this very moment, and simply begin writing out all of her observations. He tried to content himself with this idea, making a mental register of everything, but, it was for naught of course. He looked up at Snape, and he couldn't stop himself.

"What manifestations have been reported by the spell? And why did you have me touch that powder?" The last question sounded accusatory, but Harry could not help himself from allowing his bottled up emotions to erupt from him. Snape stood stock-still, facing something that he could not see, his brows furrows in meditation, it seemed to be. He did not look at him, but faced him from the side, merely looking up at the hall above both of them. Finally, he answered, tight-lipped,

"There is nothing that has been reported, Potter, save for a few of the most unexpected and- " he paused, and slight repulsion traced his face, "unsavory circumstances."

"But then," Harry said, struggling with his words and confused by Snape's apparent disgust, "why would you tell me to touch the powder- Invectus- whatever?" Snape turned, and stared down at him. "I didn't tell you to," he spat after a moment. They simply looked at each other, transfixed for a moment, "Do you not think that there was a reason for which I attempted, in my animagus form, to attend to the matter myself?" Harry shook his head back and forth. "Yes, but, you didn't stop me." He scratched his head. The potions master was more of an enigma than ever. "In fact, you seemed pleased when you told me not to touch anything in the kitchen." Snape continued to stare.

"Yes, Potter," he said after a moment. "But none of this was my idea. I simply enjoy the art of communication," he said, dismissively, waving a hand. "This entire situation was a foolhardy scheme that the headmaster worked out in that brilliant head of his," he snarled, and Harry had the distinct impression that Snape's anger was all being directed at Dumbledore in this case, having little to do with him.

"But then- " he said, after a pause, "why did you want me to touch it?"

"I did not want you to touch it," he said, his voice now tinged with impatience, "quite the contrary, Potter, because I am not looking forward to what will be evoked from you healing me with this powder." He let out a low hiss, that Harry could almost have mistaken for a sigh. His brain was skyrocketing in all directions, shooting off dendrites that he could not grab. The potions professor could not be more of a mystery to him if he had taken a love potion in front of his very eyes.

"Why did you goad me to do it then? Never mind," he added, while Snape turned upon his heel and started to pace, "you don't need to answer. It's just that I really don't understand why you took me away from the Dursley's in the first place, or why you came as a cat, or why, for that matter, you had me fix the wound with a powder that will apparently have effects on us that you don't like." Snape met his gaze again, still looking extremely irritated, and even volatile by the way that his mouth screwed into a sour, grape-frown.

"But it's okay," Harry added quickly, "I don't need to know that bad." On the spot, without moving to the left, or right, Snape sat down abruptly, practically seeming to fall into the couch behind him. Harry could not help thinking that it was a humorous sight. He had never seen Snape appear disgruntled before, and to know that Professor Dumbledore had a stake in whatever was plaguing him, in a unique case that involve he himself along with the potions master, made him greatly amused for some reason. In addition to this, it was slowly becoming apparent to him, through his slow transition into this bizarre time and place he found himself in, that he had escaped the Dursley's for the entire summer. He was not sure, as he looked across the room at the potions master, that the alternative was much better, but he could not help himself from feeling happy. Snape had dropped his chin in his hands, and his long white fingers gripped his jaw so hard that they were turning even whiter than the skin color. He stared at Harry oddly, as though he were one of the slimy potions ingredients hanging from his walls that he didn't quite know what to do with.

Harry wasn't exactly keen on having conversation with Snape, but he could detect that this was one of the rare moments in which Snape did not seem to have much control, so he grasped the opportunity to ask another question before it was snatched.

"What sort of manifestations have occurred?" He wondered whether Snape would answer him as the coal-black eyes pierced him like small, dark lasers.

"Although I am not accustomed, nor do I like, Potter, answering any of your query, so that we are perfectly clear- " anger burbled up within Harry, "for the sake of biding away endless, tedius time, I will inform you of our situation. The headmaster has perceived that in light of the events last year, you are in infinite danger, as the Dark Lord, in his own shall we say- unique mind- becomes a looming threat to our world. In order to aide in your protection against this possibility, he requested that I watch the perimeter around the Dursley's house for several days, until a replacement could be sought. However," he said cynically, "this would not suffice, for the headmaster had other plans." Harry had a feeling that, whatever these particular plans were, Snape was not enjoying them in the slightest. "Those plans consisted of a nefarious development which may or may not come into existence when you are forced to face the Dark Lord again," he said slowly, watching Harry cloesly. He didn't say anything, but his eyes were fixed upon the potions master, his body as rigid as a stone. "I am led to believe that they are meant to thwart his own plans, whatever they may be." _Thwart the Dark Lord's plans?_ Harry thought with a jolt, an anchor pooling into the pit of his stomach at the implications that idea generated. "This," Snape continued, brushing a long strand of black hair out of his face, "would most likely require me to take on my animagus form, while you take on the consequent role of my alleged caretaker." The dread pooling throughout his stomach grew. A thin smile spread across Snape's mouth, but did not reach its full measure, and seemed to die rapidly. "When the Dark Lord makes an attempt to come back, it is the headmaster's belief that he will do so by seeking out his former spy, in addition to you, of course." Harry thought hard about that, until it finally clicked- with a thud.

"You- you spied for Voldemort?"

"Do not say his name!" Snape snarled immediately. "I believe that is what I just told you, is it not? In any case," he continued, his tone jumping in and out of place, wavering as if he were battling agitation, "it is very likely that the magical effects of the _Invectus Septimum_ powder will keep me in my animagus form, and will in fact, detect you to be my caretaker, when it is necessary." Harry just stared dumbly at him. "It creates a bond between the animagus, or my form when I am a cat, and the person who does the healing, recognizing one as the provider." he clarified, looking repulsed at the idea.

"Oh," was all he said. Harry was dumbfounded. He had been involved with many strange, and abnormal happenings even for a wizard, but this perhaps, had more of an impact than when Hagrid had stomped into the Dursley's living, and used the end of his umbrella to curse Dudley with a pig's tail. He could not think of one thing to say. After a minute of silence, he heard Snape mutter, "The headmaster has gone absolutely barmy." For once, he had to admit, he was in total agreement with him. If Professor Dumbledore was completely sane, then he would not forge some kind of magical bond between the potions master which would enchant him as his caretaker, in order to thwart Lord Voldemort. The notion was utterly ludicrous.

"Er- professor?" Harry asked, after a moment.

"What, Potter?"

"Um- what does this- how exactly does Professor Dumbledore think that this will help to fight against Volde- He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?" he finished hastily. "How could you being a cat help him?" he asked, struggling immensely with this concept. Snape looked back at him, a wry twist in his mouth, that made him wonder if the potions master was actually smiling. He then stared pointedly up at the ceiling. "The headmaster is laboring under a great many delusions. One, is that the Dark Lord does not understand the concept of love." He gave Harry a cursory glance. "You are aware of this, no doubt Potter, from previous conversations held with Albus Dumbledore." He nodded, comprehending what Snape was saying. "It is his unique belief, that if you bonded to another organism through _Invectus Septimum_, that the Dark Lord will be unable to harm you. As I said, this is simply the headmaster's belief. There is no logical proof that such an ideal has any merit beyond what he assumes."

"But," Harry said, "he usually isn't wrong- er- is he?" Snape's long, yellowed fingernails thrummed along the arm of the sofa he sat in. "Not typically."

"What will being your caretaker involve? When will we need to keep up the façade?"

"The exact frame of time is unclear," Snape said. "However, all that you need to know consists in the understanding that I just gave to you. Plans will develop as they will," he finished abruptly, standing up quickly as he smoothed over his black robes, "in the most fortunate circumstance imaginable, they will not develop at all." Harry couldn't help but to concur with the vein in which Snape said that, because he was not altogether sure that Professor Dumbledore's plan made any sense whatever. People might say that he was a brilliant wizard and all that, but . . . in this case, he thought that Snape's cynical attitude definitely may have been warranted. His rather unusual behavior over the last couple of days also made more sense to him now that he knew why Snape had been a part of some of the most extreme layers of the aspects, of what he considered to be dangers layers of scalding sand. Executing measures such as this for Professor Dumbledore must have taken its toll on him. He remembered that headmaster saying the Snape had saved him at the end of last year due to a life debt that he owed Harry's father, but something of a reversal seemed to have been put into action. Considering the circumstances, he might go so far, as to say that he almost felt sorry for Snape. Surely it would have been hard to protect Harry against his wishes, but in the case that he needed to care for Snape as an animagus . . . well, suffice it to say that Harry was quite glad that the potions master would be a cat when that particular scenario happened.

"Is that why you took me away from the Dursley's?" he asked, while Snape moved toward the kitchen. He did not really know where that question had come from. It must have been plaguing his subconscious for a few hours. Snape whipped back around, with a snarl,

"Potter, I have already had my entire summer wasted by this nonsense." That statement did not shock him in the slightest. He wondered vaguely what had taken Snape so long. His summer, however, on the other hand . . . well, even here with Snape, was not a total waste. "Do not make me repeat myself. If you would like to go back to those muggles, then by all means, I will come with you to speak to the headmaster about this ridiculous idea."

"No," Harry said, "that's alright, I was just wondering." Snape was silent for a moment.

"Capital," he said finally. "Then do not question me again." A light sheen across his forehead indicated that the potions master did not feel entirely well, and Harry was not about to press his luck with an extremely irritable Snape.

"Alright," he said. "Good night, Professor," he added as an afterthought. If he would be staying the entire summer with his potions professor, he thought that it might be a good idea to try to stay on civil terms with him. Snape swept into the kitchen with, allowing it to fall behind him with a loud 'bang.' Harry was left staring around at all of Snape's, not feeling the least bit tired. He snuck a quick glance toward the kitchen. Perhaps it was time to see who that lacy kerchief belonged to . . .


	6. Kitchen Imaginings

_**A special thank you to: JulieSnape02, hazeldragon, cara-tanaka, and HogwartsRocks**_

_**{A/N: Happy Thanksgiving everyone, and here is a small treat that I'm giving to all of you. Please remember to leave feedback if you have a minute, for it always makes the package better! Just say hello.}**_

_**[Disclaimer: Not mine, of course]**_

_**Kitchen Imaginings ~**_

_**Chapter 6 **_

Harry sometimes wished that he had a pet to snuggle with. He felt lonely when he pulled the covers up to his chin in the midst of the night. He thought that when his whole life spun before his vision, that- he really didn't know where he had gone. Here, in a dreary house with a dour professor. The Dursleys had never treated him to anything remotely similar to a son, or even, well, anything considered to be worthy of any humanistic considerations. This had nothing to do with how he behaved, or who he was. He wished that Hedwig would come back. It may seem silly, but all he had sometimes was the snowy white owl, who would perch upon his arm to rest with her shining wings turned in the like direction of her yellow eyes toward the sun. The white feathers lightly speckled with black would gleam as he petted them softly.

Of course, now there was no time to do anything. On one hand, Harry had endless time, to simply sit down with a pet and stroke it, but if he did that then how could he carry out with this plan? Everything rushed ahead of him. Comfort surely needed to be kept to a minimum in times of war and strife, or he would put everyone's lives in danger. How could he think of anything else save for this scheme that Dumbledore had planned? He allowed his head to tilt back in the bed, as he sorrowfully glanced up at the bookshelves to scan the few titles that spoke themselves, volumes to him . . . which one of them might have to do with that kerchief?

He knew that he shouldn't have done so, but Harry had not been able to resist snatching the waving white flag that fluttered in that tantalizing way from the box near the foot of that sofa. It was simply a faded white color that had a lacy fringe-work about its edge, having become a bit yellowed over time. Harry thought that, by looking at it, perhaps some significance was in order. The appearance of it really didn't mean anything. He just as well assumed that if his potions professor had the thing in his house then there must be some type of connection to someone else, and the idea of a woman in Snape's life nearly made him cringe. It would be terribly difficult to believe. Nevertheless . . . around this interesting scheme in the works, it gave him something to do. After all, it was way too early in the summer to do homework, and he was restless, not to mention bored out of his mind. And he knew that he shouldn't do it, but, there was no choice to be made as well as he could see worn out books before him with faded titles, and in his hand a kerchief lay.

He had sniffed the piece, but nothing had entered his nostrils. If Snape had ever known a lady though . . . just a little bit might be said for him than being a master of potions, and Harry wanted to find out what that was. Ron would go completely berserk when he found out, and even Hermione would probably be shocked to discover that Snape had a girlfriend at some point in time . . . there must be a clue in this wide ranging house, stocked with so many items that you couldn't see your foot at times beneath all of the junk- Harry subconsciously drew his short nails to his mouth, musing for a minute. The low hanging light bulb in his room emitted a pallid glow over this small enclosure where dust had gathered upon the shelf that shot into the ceiling from this point of view. At the moment Harry crouched over some of the worn covers with his knees pressed into a faded rug.

His eyes roved over the books, and then back over them carefully, but none of them made any impression. He sighed. It shouldn't really surprise him that Professor Snape had nothing that would capture his interest, unless he felt a driving need to become a potions master on a whim one day. He might as well seek out one of his own books from the trunk that Snape had enlarged for him from his own store. In fact, he might as well simply do homework. He put the kerchief underneath his pillow for safekeeping, and gave up his hunt, reaching rather for the brown trunk in which his few tawdry items were kept for school and _'Quidditch Through The Ages,_' lay sleeping. He had nearly forgotten about that one, actually. Harry at least had one book in his possession that would interest him in the meanwhile, as he waited for all of this nonsense to pan itself out. The idea that Severus Snape had a saved and long-cherished handkerchief and wanted him to be his caretaker when he turned into a cat, could be deemed ludicrous. He stretched out therefore across his bed and yawned, happily opening the covers to his favorite reading material, all the while wondering who that kerchief belonged to. He couldn't take all of these surrounding mysteries teasing him to no end for very long. Harry harrumphed.

Morning came much sooner than Harry had hoped, because he could see sunlight softly trickling through his room, falling across his bedroom walls and seeping onto the pages of his book. He squinted his eyelids closed, tightly, wanting to push it back, hoping that the sun would just go away. He felt so very heavy, as a sleep that never came weighed down upon him at once. He couldn't allow himself to look at the trees outside his window and see the green on them, glinting in that heat. The room itself was rather chilly, and the book still lay there, on his bed. He could barely lift his head up, his cheek stuck onto the cold page. His mouth watered when his eyes fell upon a description of playing Quidditch after eating your breakfast, the pancake swimming up before him. He was savoring for it. He wanted something hot to warm himself, but the sun in its gliding rays made him close his eyes, wishing that he were asleep. He had been plagued by images of Snape hissing at him while he fed the scrawny thing its dinner, a plate of fish that he didn't want due to the smell perhaps, although Harry hadn't thought it was that pungent. He needed to document Snape's desires carefully. He didn't want the cat to hate him. He wanted the room to heat up so that he might-

Harry felt that a large responsibility took away those fancies. He would find himself dreaming and then, before he knew what had happened, the voice of reason would interfere. The gliding rays of the sun, as they swept throughout his room landing on his book, told him that he would have a really difficult time attempting to fall into that pretty land of his imagination. He stared at the lines for a few moments. They began to blur. He wanted Hedwig back. At least Ron and Hermione could know what had happened, although he had never even asked whether Snape would allow this, because he could guess, really, what his answer would be. Harry wanted to do something to take his mind away from the implication of Snape having a furry tail, but the glaring morning was taking away his dreams as his stomach called him to attention, and he needed to pay dues to reality now. He closed the book, forgot about humorous images of feeding a smelly fish to Snape the cat, forgot about the kerchief that he had been for a small space entertained with, tried to shield himself against the cold of the room. There was a tattered blanket lying in one of the corners, which he removed, shook off, and wrapped around his body.

Feeling a little bit ridiculous, Harry went down the staircase in the semblance of a cocoon. He did not much care if he looked like a butterfly that was about to hatch . . . Snape stood a few centimeters away from him, glaring down at something which Harry could not see. The man's oily black hair looked like a fine marble from this distance, so he blinked several times. He did not want to start imagining things. As though it wasn't bad enough that Harry couldn't seem to refrain from calling up Snape as a smiling or an eating cat that disliked its dinner at any moment of the day or night, that he imagined his potions professor with girlfriends, his long hooked nose pressed into lacy handkerchiefs, smelling deeply of their perfume. He nearly stumbled the last few steps down, dropping the blanket in his endeavors, and stopping himself just short from running into the professor.

"I'm sorry, sir," he said, trying to keep a straight face, righting himself. "I almost didn't see you," he babbled, feeling his face flush while he desperately struggled to hold his tongue. Snape merely looked at him, as though he did not have any idea what to make of him. Harry felt as though he were one of his potions experiments, and looked away hastily. "I'm- I'm sorry," he muttered. Snape waved a long hand slowly.

"It makes no difference to me, Potter, what you do with your spare time." He smirked. Harry could not look away from his pallid face. There was something mesmerizing in it. "I do believe," he said, that we have work to do today." His stomach chose that moment to give a loud grumble.

"That is of course, assuming that you have eaten your fill," he said, emphasizing the last word, while Harry felt annoyance and embarrassment spar with each other, at the same time.

"Alright," he mumbled, not really knowing what else to say. Snape crossed the dangerous array of scattered material which composed his entire floor, over the threshold to the kitchen. Harry followed behind glumly, still wishing that he was able to owl Ron and Hermione. But in fact, this may just be the perfect time to bring up the topic. Snape did not seem terribly angry considering his usual taciturn composure . . . he cleared his throat while the black-clad man moved about. The silver knives and forks portrayed designs that were traditional house symbols, belonging to the Snape family at one time. Harry was fascinated by these as they whirred onto the white plates with a clatter. How they had fallen into a house such as this one remained a mystery to him. He thought that the image of a falcon had been gleaned from people that were far more lavish in their lifestyle than was the potions professor.

"Sir," he started. "Um . . . do you think it would be possible for me to owl my friends? You know- when Hedwig returns." Two plates covered in eggs that ran into each other sunny side up beside two strips of bacon flew in an arc over to the small, rickety wooden table at which Harry sat, where they seemed to grow to- at least twice their size. Harry tried to contain the rushing desire that engaged his entire body, as it made a rogue attempt to shovel the food down as if Harry were a garbage disposal. He thought about sitting on his hands as an attempt to withstand the brutal mortification that they might possibly cause him. It had been so long since he had eaten breakfast in the morning that he could scarcely remember the moment. A million pictures flew through his mind of the days he'd enjoyed with his friends, dragging down his heart. How long had it been since he'd been filled with those beautiful Hogwarts meals? He glanced back up at Snape, his hands involuntarily betraying him, shooting for the eggs while he awaited an answer to his request. Snape's eyebrows drew together in consternation.

"What is this, Potter?" he sneered. "You act as though you've never eaten a decent meal." Those black tunnel eyes bored into him. Harry quickly turned away. Snape already knew enough about his life at the Dursley's. He gently fingered the cutlery in his hand, barely refraining from gobbling down the tantalizing eggs. He found himself truly surprised that Snape had cooked the breakfast himself. He did not think that the man would enjoy simple domestic tasks. Anxiety slightly brushed against him, and he adamantly pushed it away. He would not allow himself to be intimidated . . .

"No, sir," he answered stoutly. "I usually don't eat much at home."

"Interesting, Potter," Snape answered. "Interesting, indeed," he continued silkily. Harry glanced back up to meet his gaze. His eyes were like nails. "Perhaps," he said slowly, "you would consent to revealing more about your life with your family." He did not understand Snape's wish. Why would he want to know about his life with his aunt and uncle, and Dudley? That couldn't be very interesting. He couldn't imagine anyone wanting to hear about them . . . curiously scoping out the reason for his professor's odd request, Harry decided to blurt out the first thing that came to his mind, which he thought could be deemed interesting.

"Well," he said, swallowing. "I, er- I set a snake upon my cousin Dudley once accidentally." He bit his lip. Maybe he should not have told Snape that. His form was completely silent, the two plates of food lying forgotten. Harry allowed his eyes to rove over the eggs as though they had their own life. He took a sigh and continued, glancing at Snape's expression beneath the long oily hair. His face was inscrutable. "It wasn't my fault though, because the snake wanted to be set free."

"Free, Potter?" Snape asked boredly, his lips twisting rather oddly.

"Yeah," he murmured. "I didn't do it on purpose. The glass smashed, and it went straight at Dudley. The snake didn't want to capture him or anything . . . " he stopped, realizing how bizarre this tale must sound.

"So you are a Parseltongue," Snape said in a low tone, one that was nearly venomous. His eyes had a strange, eerie glint in them. It was filled with imminent promise of something that Harry could not understand, which frightened him. It was cold and calculating, but another note had appeared. The promise did not bode well. Harry was absolutely certain that whatever Snape's thoughts were, they meant that something which he did not like was going on. Then the eyes narrowed. "A Parseltongue." He looked even paler than usual.

"What- what does that mean, sir?" Snape drew in a breath, and it seemed to Harry as though he were trying to retain his composure when he answered,

"It is not certain, Potter. It could imply a number of different agendas, none of which prospects are good." His words were slow, as though he were tasting them on his tongue as he spoke.

"But," Harry said, struggling to comprehend the meaning behind this, "well, what does that mean, exactly? I'm sure lots of wizards can do it, can't they?"

"No, Potter, they can't," Snape told him curtly. "It is a rare gift," he enunciated clearly. "The only two well-known wizards, who had the ability to communicate with snakes include the Dark Lord and Salazar Slytherin." He eyed Harry as a hawk would its prey, before turning towards his plate of food. Harry stared at the eggs bleakly for a minute, all of his fantasies from last night sapped, while his energy and his lust for the food diminished with them. He suddenly found that he wasn't very hungry. Pushing the plate of food back, he arose from his seat and said dully,

"I'll just be up in my room." He made towards the kitchen door, but when he reached it, paused, his hands upon the door handle.

"Do you think that Dumbledore's plan will be any benefit?" Snape took a sip of his tea. His eyes settled on something that was imaginary, the oily head turned in the opposite direction.

"It remains to be seen," he said after a moment. Harry nodded, and opened the door. He stopped again.

"Sir?" he questioned. "May I owl my friends?" Snape still did not look at him. He took another slow sip from the porcelain cup. He examined his long yellow fingernails minutely, as though deliberately trying to make Harry wait for his answer.

"You may, Potter. As long as you do not tell them anything specific about these current circumstances." Harry nodded once more. "I'll just be up in my room then." As he walked out, Snape's voice wafted after in his wake, pulling him back into the kitchen once again. Lines crawled across the pale face that twisted about in so many different ways, Harry was reminded of a spider weaving a mysterious web. It was so fascinating, and yet so difficult to read. He glanced at the many pictures, so worn out and faded upon the cupboards in the room. The likeness between the woman in them to the potions master was startling. He looked back into Snape's cool and collected face.

"Sir?" He stared at him strangely.

"I would take the meal with you, unless the hero of our world is to faint upon meeting the Dark Lord." They did smell good. The eggs themselves might sit on that plate for ages unless he ate them, looking lost and forlorn as they did. A smile tweaked the corners of Harry's mouth slightly. Snape's eyes bored into him in a manner that was similar to the trademark look that Albus Dumbledore always gave him. It was highly unsettling. He averted his own eyes, directing their lusty need towards the plate. Perhaps he would sit down to eat after all . . .

"Alright," he said, giving up the battle. Harry went over to the table and sat back down, ignoring Snape's sneer. The potions master surveyed him through his two curtains of black hair as he demolished his meal. After awhile, the silence in the room grew quite comfortable . . . he found himself imagining Snape as a furry cat once more, entertaining himself by thinking of all the different expressions that he possibly could gracing his furry whiskers. After a few minutes of this, he heard Snape ask him coolly,

"Is there anything that's bothering you, Potter?"

"No, sir," he said, trying hard to muffle his laughter. He dropped his nose into the porcelain cup of milk with the falcon crest upon it. Within their depths, a cute little, black cat jumped about, chasing after the bird and trying to catch it . . .


	7. Dreams of Blackness

_**A special thanks to: cara-tanaka, Garnet-Monsoon, hazeldragon, not-written, and hkeas for their lovely reviews on the last chapter! And by the way everyone, hkeas has kindly offered to translate this story into the Taiwanese language. Already a few of the chapters are posted via other fanfic sites. So an extra-special thanks for that, and a call out to anyone interested that they should feel free to message either one of us.**_

_**And now, without ado . . . **_

_**{Please remember that none of this is mine. I'm just playing around with it}**_

**_Dreams of Blackness ~_**

**Chapter 7**

The longer that Harry stayed with Snape, the more he felt as though something had been communicated that he would never have the chance of being able to understand. There was a mystery, about everything. The house, and the many boxes however oddly shaped, were bursting at the seams with surprises that Harry would give anything in the world to uncover. He couldn't bring himself to touch anything though, because a torrid fear had burrowed deep into the depths of his heart, and stayed there. Night after night, he thought about Dumbledore's plan for the two of them, and as he looked out at the stars, his green eyes grew larger than their normal shape, making the lines around them crinkle up like a wad of tissue paper. Harry turned his head toward the only item that he had uncovered from Snape's well-kept secrets, thinking that he would hold onto that kerchief until he saw Ron and Hermione again, merely in order to see the look on Ron's face when he told him that, he had discovered a lady friend in Snape's past . . .

Such ideas were utter foolishness. Harry could not help himself from seeking out the door in his dark bedroom. The long, wooden brown loomed at him. It was rather odd that the door itself seemed as though it was somehow separate from the wall around it . . . the white did not look as though it belonged with the shadow. The door was only a wood that had been darkened by night, but the fact that the entrance to his room was bathed in shadow was depressing in a way. Like the night around him, only lightened by a few lone stars outside, well, Harry himself felt dark as well. He decided that he should go downstairs, therefore. A glass of milk might cool down his sizzling brain, and take away the heat from his body. He swallowed.

Halfway down the staircase, Harry spotted a light coming from the kitchen, and almost pulled back. He didn't know whether approaching Snape at this time of night would be more or less beneficial than trying to rest, but since his dreams were no longer humorous to him he thought he would do so. Why he couldn't simply think of furry whiskers rather than Voldemort killing the two of them, he couldn't imagine. However, there was no way out of this, and he knew that Professor Dumbledore had placed him under Snape's care for a reason, and he hoped, with all his heart that Snape's animagus form would be their savior. With every fiber of his being, he wanted to reach out and pet Snape again. He wanted a friend. He'd never had one when he was with the Dursley's, save for Hedwig, but his owl could not be tucked under the covers with him. Neither could Snape obviously. He saw another light flood from beneath the floor in the kitchen. He ran to it, and flung open the door handle. The professor stood several feet away from him in front of a large, pewter cauldron, his greasy black hair falling around his face. The only bit of skin that remained visible was the hooked nose.

Harry knew that he shouldn't disturb the professor, but he was so enchanted by the idea of holding him while Snape's whiskers tickled his face at night, tucked securely beneath his covers under the stars, that, he just stood rooted in the door for a minute- and burst out laughing. Snape's head whipped around more quickly than a hopping kangaroo, with eyes that blackly pierced his soul.

"Sorry," he muttered. Snape's hand paused over the murky potion. Gray globs were sizzling out of the top. From Harry's perspective, he- Harry looked at the potions professor. He felt as though the look directed at him alone would break him in two as if he were an ice sculpture. Snape's eyes narrowed, boring into his own like daggers, chiseling away at his very spirit. Harry tried to remain calm, ridding himself of the idea that Snape could be on his bedroom floor hissing at him because he did not serve the potions master his favorite tuna flavored, _Fancy Feast,_ or any similar brand that tasted delicious to the poor man.

"I thought," said Snape slowly, "that you had better ways to occupy yourself, Potter, than laughing at me while I brew a potion." He spat out the last few words.

"Sorry," Harry muttered again, truly feeling some remorse. After all, Snape could not make any potions that were for his ongoing fight against Lord Voldemort while he stood there trying to take his mind away from his own struggles. As he turned toward the door, he heard a soft spell issued.

"Potter." He sounded resigned almost, a bit deadened, as though Harry had sucked the life out of his words with his actions. Cautiously, he turned back toward Snape. He eyed Harry quizzically, placing one long, white, thin finger to the edge of his hooked nose. The gesture seemed so uncharacteristic for him, that Harry stared at him. His eyes were narrowed to the small slivers that uncommonly looked like Voldemort's red eyes. Inwardly, he cringed.

"What is it that you require, Potter?" His voice was so low that Harry almost did not hear him. His gaze went to the floor, as though the linoleum had become extremely entertaining. Just then, he did see the potion master's reflection on it . . .

"I don't need anything," he replied mutinously. He did not tell the potions master the entire truth, of course- the ceiling was interesting as well.

"You-don't- require anything." Snape paused. "You do realize Potter, that while you are here you are under my care? You do realize that the headmaster entrusted this job to me so that you would not be in more danger than you have already arrogantly put yourself in? Why do you think I am giving up my time to this tedius job?" His eyes narrowed, if that was possible, even further. Harry did not say anything. Anger boiled within him.

"You know what I think, Potter?" he asked softly after a moment. Harry still said nothing. "I think that you are a spoiled little, arrogant fool just like your father, and that you take an immense pleasure in wasting other people's time."

"That's not true!" Harry yelled, his temper finally having been pushed to its limit. "My father was a great man! Professor Dumbledore said- "

"Professor Dumbledore does not know all of the details," Snape told him viciously. Harry said nothing to him. His hands were balled so tight into fists that they were going numb. How dare Snape stand there and say crude things about his father?

"Then what did you come down here for?" Harry looked up into his face, his emotions whirling inside of him. He reluctantly leaned back against the wall, after taking a few steps away from the door, haunted by the dream that he'd been having- Voldemort's hand raised high in an arc. He didn't even know what had generated a human form, since he had only seen Voldemort through the back of Professor Quirrel's head in a ghostly disfigurement, or the reasons for which he'd turned, ever so carefully away from Snape, malevolent eyes gleaming with a spark of glee, with venom. After killing the potions professor, Harry reflected, he was going to kill him as well, a split second before he'd awakened. "Well, Potter . . . " Harry's throat was like dried parchment. He swallowed convulsively several times.

"I need- to go to the loo."

"Potter! Come back here!" Snape whirled towards him in a flash of black, and suddenly all Harry could see was the vision in his dream. He tried desperately to stop his adrenaline from moving too fast, electrical shocks shooting throughout his system, making him clench his fingers together, as Voldemort's robes, clearly defined, simply fluttered, in the night. He shook his head to clear it, trying to imagine Snape as a black cat once again, but unable to tickle those pretend whiskers. He felt hard nails, instead, digging into his shoulders.

"Stop," a voice commanded, hissing against his ear. Harry could feel himself trembling. Silently he cursed his inability to suppress his emotions. The nails gripping him brought him back to reality.

"Ouch," he said, wincing. Snape removed his hands slowly, while he breathed in and out a few times and regained his bearings.

"What is it that you saw, Potter?" Snape demanded in a clear, silky tone that cut through his head, ripping apart all of the lingering notions. "Explain yourself." The voice was hard, cold and powerful. Harry found himself responding, almost automatically.

"The- the spell didn't work," he rasped, leaning his head against the wall, his body now sapped of all its energy. His eyes shifted towards the side of Snape's robes. He didn't think that allowing him to read his mind was such a great idea at the moment. He brushed a hand across his forehead, feeling the sweat plastering his hair down, anxiety making him unsteady. He closed his eyes. "V-Voldemort killed you. But he had a human form," he murmured, "not like he was last year . . . in Quirrel's head." Snape said nothing. Harry opened his eyes slightly, curious to know what his reaction was, but the potion master's face was smooth.

"Go on," he demanded of him in a low, smooth tone of voice. Harry nodded. He didn't know why, but the shivers began to recede from his body now.

"It seemed so real this time," he continued. "I don't know why. I mean, it's not like I haven't had dreams about it before, but- " And here, he stopped. He did not know how to explain what he had seen. At that point, a thought struck. "Sir," he said, his voice barely above a whisper, "do you think it's possible for him to get into my head? I mean, could Voldemort be using Legilimencey- "

"Don't say his name, Potter." Harry lifted his head. The glint in Snape's eyes flashed brightly, but his expression remained indecipherable. He had no idea what the potions master was thinking, and it unnerved him. He realized, as his eye caught upon the sleeve of his tattered old shirt that Aunt Petunia had passed down to him from Dudley, that he looked worse for the wear. Harry flushed, consciously aware now of the state of his dress and physical appearance. He desperately hoped that this would not be held in Snape's arsenal of sly and cunning remarks that he never seemed to have enough of.

"I came down to get a glass of milk." And, although he did not want to admit to the idea, he had something else that had been an intriguing tease at the time. He grinned wryly. He decided to just blurt out what may very well convict him of some kind of treason. He may very well clean cauldrons the rest of his life. Harry bit his lip. He adjusted his glasses, staring owlishly right into Snape's dark eyes. "I imagined that you were a cat. It helped to keep my mind off the dream." Harry shrugged, shifting his feet to the side a bit. "I dunno . . . for some reason it helped me to- "

"That's why you waltzed into my kitchen in the middle of the night, Potter, laughing at me?" Snape's face turned several different shades in the space of about thirty seconds. Oddly enough, Harry felt as though he had become calmer as he watched it.

"Yes," he answered. He kept his face completely neutral. He shrugged. "Seeing you as a cat contradicts the way Volde-er- You -Know-Who drew his wand and . . . " he shuddered again. Snape's tongue slowly drew across his dark lips. He seemed as though he were deep in thought, his eyes flicking murderously between Harry and the cauldron resting upon the table, which had lain forgotten. Harry drew his arms tightly about himself. He found himself wishing that a fire could be stroked to life in the room, so that it would put out the remains of his vision. He felt physically ill, as though he were coming down with the flu. He struggled to fight back nausea. Snape cocked one of his long fingers at him, silently walking towards one of the cabinets on which hung a mesmerizing picture of his mother. Long, silky black hair hung in ringlets about her face. Harry wondered whether the potions that Snape brewed made his hair so thin, and grease-like.

"Hold out your hand, Potter," Snape said. Harry did so. A cool flask touched him, and he wrapped his fingers tightly around it. He glanced at the professor questioningly. A suspicious smile crossed Snape's face in a painfully slow motion. "Drink, it, Potter." Harry was not sure that he could be trusted.

"What is it?" he asked. The smile curled even deeper into his sallow cheeks. "Drink it, now . . . " Harry hesitated, his hand still tightly clutching the glass vial.

"No," he said stoutly.

"If you do not care enough about your own wellbeing to take a flask of Dreamless Sleep potion, Potter, then nothing more can be done for your pathetic hide." His eyes glinted in an odd manner. "In this scenario, at least you will not be forced to project me as a cat in your extraordinary imagination," he said, enunciating the last word heavily. Harry had an outrageous penchant to laugh. Quickly, he drowned the vial. In minutes, he found himself feeling lightheaded. His body swayed. Before he hit the floor, a pair of black arms caught him, dragging him along the floor towards the entrance. He thought of the black cat before his eyes closed, and sleep took him far away from anything related to his troublesome life . . .


	8. Worse Imaginings

_**A special thank you to:**_

_**Zireael07, cara-tanaka, hazeldragon, notwritten, and yamiduke13 for their reviews on Chapter 7.**_

_**And now onto the story! . . . **_

_**{Disclaimer: Please remember that I don't own Harry Potter, much to my perpetual chagrin}**_

_**Chapter 8-**_

_**Worse Imaginings ~**_

__Harry could not have been further from the taunting little string of imaginary thought that caused him to remember what it felt like to sit with his friends at the long tables in the Great Hall of Hogwarts . . . the idea seemed to, have left him somehow, have become a mere figment, oozing through his brain. Hogwarts had drifted into a land of nothingness. Harry cocked his head to the right, and then to the left. Some strange potion had been given to him. A large wad of cotton must have lodged itself into his head when Snape had given him that vial. What had he been forced to take?

"Potter." Harry's eyes darted upward- up and beyond, in the far distance of the room, floated a strange apparition. A long, pearl-white face that hung down in an elaborate scowl, framed by layers of black. Snape's head was like a phantom floating through the air toward him. He lifted one of his long white hands. It floated through the air beside his head. A mahogany-colored stick was within its potion-stained, chipped and yellow-nailed grasp. It flicked up, once, and then two times in succession before his eyes, moving Harry into an upright, ramrod position. He stared determinedly at the potions master of Hogwarts, his eyes narrowed. He knew with certainty that he was missing something. Why did Snape have no body? He shook his head as though a fly were buzzing around that he needed to catch. The image of the Great Hall at Hogwarts quickly left him. In a moment, he realized that he had been dreaming, but the dream had been far removed from his own mind somehow. The thick, penetrating wad of cotton lessoned as he sat up though.

"What was that potion you gave me?" he asked, willing the ringing in his head to stop, as he squinted his eyes at Professor Snape.

"Why, pray tell, are you staring at me in such a manner, Potter?" Snape asked him coolly. Harry scratched his head.

"You have no body. I don't know how, exactly- " Snape's bodiless head swept over the room with its long black eyebrows formed into the most gruesome question mark that he had ever seen.

"You are a complete and utter imbecile, Potter," Snape said curtly. The wand flicked. Snape became attached to his usual sweeping dark form. Harry's mouth formed a round 'O,' but he said nothing to return the potion master's insult, for the reason of his own interest in the variety of disillusionment spells.

"That spell," he said, sounding slightly out of breath. He couldn't quite manage to hide his curiosity. "How did you manage to hide yourself partially, rather than your whole body?" Snape scoffed at him, his glinting black eyes making an obvious slice through the air, meaning to cut Harry into pieces after he had spoken. The scowl he wore resembled a jack-o-lantern carved from a truly animated craftsperson, and belonged resting on a ledge at Hogwarts with the other pumpkins, carved out by ghouls and ghosts that lived at the castle. Many of them waited for the night all year long, Harry was told, and he couldn't help but to think that really, some of them might love to borrow Snape's face for the perfect imprint on the black night. He would have-

"Potter! Do not ask me inane questions if you refuse to listen," he silkily enunciated, stretching the word out beyond its normal capacity in any measurable sense, "to what I am expressing." He said this in the slow, dangerously shifting manner that one with his own unique and powerful skill for sending chills with only his tongue, might cause. And Harry swallowed over his own question. Perhaps it was, after all, best not to know why Snape wanted to float around as a ghost that had lost its body. He mentally shrugged. He couldn't stop a grin from forming across his features however, which he schooled quickly as sharply as he could back inward. Nearly-Headless-Nick would certainly be pleased to know this.

"What- pray tell- is so funny, Potter?" Snape spat his last name as though it were a vile potion that he was forcing from his tongue, looking absolutely furious as he loomed up toward him in his voluptuous black garment, rising upon him so quickly that before Harry knew what had happened they were nearly nose to nose. Harry's hand crept to his side unconsciously.

"Sorry," he muttered. He could practically smell Snape's breath, wafting out to him through those long yellowed teeth, but the hand lay quietly still. He knew that reaching for his wand was unnecessary. There was silence for a minute, before Snape straightened, pulling away from Harry finally. His face was blank, expressionless. As Harry stared up at him, it was hard for him to believe that the same man had moments ago been almost shaking with barely-suppressed fury.

"I suggest that you eat breakfast and then go back upstairs to your room." Harry did not respond. This suited him just fine, and he knew that he was in fact lucky that Snape did not have a mind to cast defense spells at him or something. This was a relatively easy living, after all. He hadn't been forced to lift a finger for days, although he wouldn't necessarily have minded doing the dishes, since keeping his hands in use may in fact have kept his mind from being overused. Harry didn't fancy thinking about the implications that his particularly vulnerable mind left wide access to at the moment. Until Hedwig returned he could write only to himself, and what could he write about save for the thoughts spinning around murderously in his head every waking moment? Perhaps Snape would not be completely averse to Harry's cleaning abilities that he had gleaned from living with the Dursleys? The thought brightened him just a little, even thought Ron would undoubtedly have thought him mad, but then, contrary to what Snape always thought, Harry did not actually enjoy being idle for extended periods of time. Even living with the Dursleys had kept him from dwelling upon circumstances that could not be helped in a rather bleak wizarding society, which, no one could deny, was nevertheless terribly enchanting. Therefore, he sat heavily in his corner of the couch, deliberating hard. As he thought about all of the possibilities that making efficient use of his time could provide, the opportunity opened up for yet another accomplishment. While he cleaned the room, perhaps he could satisfy some of his curiosity, which now pulled him into an entire world of trouble.

"Sir?"

"What is it, Potter?" Snape growled. His back flanked the wall of the kitchen. The graceful black hair swept over his shoulders, blending into his robes of black. Harry wondered vaguely if Snape had any color variations in his wardrobe. "Would you mind if I cleaned this room up?" The potions master turned. His slightly widened eyes narrowed.

"Is there a particular reason you wish to clean out an area that has not been touched for the majority of the time you've been living?" he sneered. Harry thought he detected a small trace of wry shame in Snape's tone, and a mocking anger. He was a bit surprised by his reaction.

"Er- no," he said, hesitantly, desperately groping for words. "Not really, I just- " But the door had already opened to the man in black, and a second later he had left him sitting on the couch amidst the various boxes and yellowed, dingy clutter, with his mouth hanging open. He didn't really know what to think. Snape did not typically answer his queries unless with a malicious purpose in mind, so he felt a little bereft. Frowning to himself, Harry stood up and circled the room, looking for any sign of an interesting object, or something which could occupy his mind for a few minutes, at least. He was practically going out of his mind with boredom, although he knew that a few nightmares were probably worth the alternative. If he incurred Snape's wrath by exploring his personal belongings that was a situation that he didn't fancy would turn out well. But still . . . just having a look around couldn't hurt.

If he could not discover anything about Snape's admittedly interesting past, however vague it might seem to be, then Harry always had the option of searching for something that might be connected with the magic that was about to be placed upon them. As he examined his surroundings carefully, Snape's words about the care of this downtrodden, apparently neglected area stuck him with their obvious truth. The emptiness of the room was startlingly poignant, seeming to envelop him from all directions, although . . . such a thought was also strange and inappropriate for such a cluttered room. Harry thought that if he could find a yardstick of pure space it would be a miracle, because he could not walk forward or back without bumping into something. Yet nevertheless, the room seemed empty. When he reached into the boxes he found many of them to be completely empty beneath their flaps, making the idea of neglect tangible. Some of them held pieces of muggle contraptions, but these were not terribly amusing, since most of them could be viewed through any of Aunt Petunia's windows across the street from the Dursley's residence. They held obvious things, such as antennas to old television sets, radios, and microwaves. He found himself to be admittedly baffled by these items though, as disinteresting and plain as they were. After all, Snape did not seem to be the type of person that would have enjoyed watching the television on his spare time, or listen to music . . . the thought almost caused him to burst out laughing.

He heard shuffling from the other room, and stood stock still for a moment, all of his senses attuned to the movement. He heard the sound of metal clanking against pewter, the murmurings of what could only be a spell, in the potion master's low, smooth drawl, and let out a sigh of relief. If Snape was brewing a potion then he would be occupied for a fair amount of time. Allowing his hand to fall back down into the box closest to him, he lifted the flap. This one held nothing, or so he thought, at first. However, as his fingers brushed across the bottom, seeking out the contents, they grazed lightly over something else. He pulled out the item. The room was too dark for him to see anything, but the object was hard. His curiosity was spiked. Following an instinct that pulled him into the light for some unfathomable reason, Harry lifted the small item up in front of him. A glint of glass flashed. Excitement coursed through him. He had found one of Snape's personal photographs. He could barely discern the dark outline of the figure to the forefront. After a minute his potions professor was outlined clearly, but he looked years younger in this photograph. His long nose and dark eyes were blatantly distinguishable. He had a scowl plastered onto his face, which did not make quite the impression that it did now. Harry chuckled lightly to himself. _Must have taken him his entire lifetime to hone it into what now sends Hogwarts first years running down the hall._ He glanced at the person standing beside him.

The second figure was that of a woman, who created a refreshing spectacle next to Snape, whose plain black robes paled into insignificance next to the sparkling, bright green ones of his compatriot. The woman's hand rested lightly upon his shoulder, although Snape did not seem keen on returning the gesture. For some reason, he did not appear to be angry. The woman in question had long red hair and green eyes that matched her robes. She was laughing. Harry's heart gave a jolt. It was his mother . . .

A loud clanging in the other room was followed by several cabinet doors opening and banging closed in succession. Harry sucked in a breath. He quickly dropped the framed picture into his pocket, only seconds before Snape entered, sweeping his hair away from his sweaty forehead. Without looking at Harry, he swept towards the staircase. Harry bit his lip and backed up against the wall, trying to remain unnoticed. However, as he began to ascend the staircase, Snape paused. His nostrils flared alarmingly. Almost as though he sensed that something was not right in the air, he turned around again. As soon as he saw him, his eyes narrowed.

"Potter." His voice spat the name like a vile potion. "What are you doing there?"

"Nothing, sir," Harry said innocently. He stared at him for a minute.

"Well, see that you continue to do so," he said at last. Harry nodded. His eyes remained fixed upon Snape, unmoving. Finally appearing satisfied, Snape went up to the hallway, executing whatever he had set out to do. Harry breathed another sigh of relief. He kept the picture close to him. His hand was poised over the wooden frame, almost as though daring it to move. After a minute of indecisiveness, he followed Snape up the stairwell.

Harry went into his bedroom and closed himself away for the rest of the day. He didn't really want to think about the implications that his mother's appearance in Snape's photo had, although even he had to admit that it was hard to deny that she looked happy. He studied it for several long minutes under the light, inasmuch as that every minute detail of their faces had become impressed upon his mind. Harry scowled to himself. His mind was boiling with questions that now took the place of whatever plan that Professor Dumbledore had in mind for the two of them. Were he completely honest with himself, then he would rather speak to Professor Dumbledore personally about this circumstance, telling him that he had no desire to work with anyone, no matter how skilled they were at manipulation, who had been chummy with his mum. Yet he knew that this idea was absolutely absurd. Even if Snape had, at some point, been friends with his mother- _perhaps he was more than friends,_ said a sneaky voice in his mind. Harry jerked his shoulders. _No! No, you're only thinking that way because your mind was already overactive from the dreams, and from the lace handkerchief. _There was never anything between Snape and Lily Potter. After all, she had become a Potter, marrying his dad, so there was no possible reason for her to hold feelings for Snape. Harry growled to himself. He flung himself into bed that night, and refused to think about anything else. It was best if he just kept his thoughts in general at bay.

The next morning, he was brightened by a surprise that temporarily eliminated the grudges he'd been clinging to, when he awoke to the familiar sound of pecking outside of his window.

"Hedwig!" he cried, joyfully. Immediately he opened the latch near the frame, allowing her to sweep into the room in a graceful arc. "I'm so glad to see you, girl!" After circling the room, his snowy white friend landed upon his shoulder and proceeded to nuzzle his neck affectionately.

"Did you miss me?" he whispered. His reunion was interrupted a second later, as a sharp rap upon his door alerted him to the fact that he was needed. "I'll be back soon, alright? Don't go anywhere," he admonished. She blinked into his face balefully, clucking as though to reprimand him in turn for his foolishness. He laughed. "Alright, alright, I get the picture."

He crossed the room and flung open his bedroom door. Predictably, Snape stood before him, with his arms crossed and the deep scowl that he always reserved just for Harry. He took one glance into his room and that scowl turned up into a suspicious smile.

"Ah . . . " he said softly. "I see that your pet has returned." His cold eyes bored into him. Harry took in a deep breath.

"Yeah," he said, watching Snape's face closely. He didn't feel comfortable being the object of his scrutiny. He always had the peculiar feeling that Snape always meant more than what he said. He didn't know exactly where it came from, but it always made him feel terribly uneasy. Snape's cursory glance flew down onto Harry's face.

"Breakfast is in half an hour," he snarled. With that, he turned and flew down the hall, as though enthralled by the ability to put distance between himself and the Boy-Who-Lived as soon as possible. Harry sucked in another deep breath. With a start, he realized that he had left the picture he had found lying out on the dresser. He crossed over to it hurriedly, and picked it up gently. Glancing around furtively, he shoved it into the top drawer on the right side, burrowing it beneath several layers of his socks and underwear. He had already pressed his luck.

_**A/N: I hope you enjoyed it! Please don't forget to send me a line, if you're not too busy! **_

_**Oh, and by the way- technology and me have never missed, so in light of this happily accepted deficiency, can someone please tell me how to make a line break? Thanks you . . . =)**_


	9. Dumbledore's Enigma

_**{A/N: I sincerely apologize to those of you who read this chapter last night and experienced the aggravation of bold-faced text. I have been having continual computer issues of late, and did not realize that the error was made until I was able to access the university library today. Again, my apologies}**_

_**A special thanks goes out to . . . **_

_**Cara-tanaka, yamiduke13, hazeldragon, Zireael07, and notwritten.**_

_**You are a marvelous group. I'm very appreciative of everyone keeping up with this. A good luck wish to those who are in the midst of finals. I hope this serves as a treat for some of you relaxing at the end of that tribulation, with a warm cup of something nice- and now onto the story . . . **_

_**{Disclaimer: None of this is mine obviously}**_

_**Chapter 9-**_

_**Dumbledore's Enigma ~**_

The kitchen was as cold as a freezer was. Wizards, of course, did not often have a use for refrigerators, but Harry couldn't create the distinction in his mind between a muggle lifestyle anymore, and the odd way in which the dark-haired, uncannily formidable man seemed to live. When Harry thought about the various items that he had found unwittingly he could not discover the reasons which should have presented themselves immediately at that time. There were no documents lying about the radio informing him of the relative of non-magical origins that had bestowed Professor Snape with this gift. If he had not received it as a gift, then it would appear that the potions master perhaps listened to it. That was very strange. Ron would certainly think it was strange. He might even tell Fred and George, who might- within reason of course- create something that would remind Snape of the fact, offering whatever they thought of to him on his birthday. Then what would Harry do? He would probably undergo a year's worth of detentions in the potion master's offices.

As he took a large bite out of the apple that he scouted out in the refrigerator, maintaining a meek hope that the owner of the house did not have a strange predilection for apples in addition to all of his other surprising feats he'd gained, wind trickled upon him. The passing breeze brushed over his cheek, startling him away from his thoughts about the diverting life of Snape. Snape himself stood within the frame of the door.

"You," he said, pointing one of his long, claw-like fingers at Harry, "are immensely grievous." Harry opened his mouth to say something- and there was a knock upon the door, which resounded from another part of the house. Before he knew what had occurred, Snape was upon him. He pulled Harry roughly from his chair, and flung him into a small room, to the left side of the table that he remembered seeing when first entering the kitchen, but had not paid any mind.

"Hey- " he protested, "what- " But before the words were fully out of his mouth, Snape pressed a finger against it, shooting him a warning glare. Harry closed his mouth over whatever words he was going to say, and swallowed. He nodded quietly to show that he had understood. After several moments, a door opened and shut. He pressed his ear against the door of the closet that he couldn't discern- it was probably no larger than half the size of his cupboard at the Dursley's. Irritated with his inability to move around, he resolved himself to complete stillness, hoping that he could hear something. Snape's voice floated through to him as a quiet murmuring.

"I don't know what game you're playing at, Snape, but it's not going to work." Harry sucked in his breath. "The Dark Lord isn't going to wait much longer. You've been working for Albus Dumbledore for twelve years. The Potter boy has gone missing. The Dark Lord is sure that Dumbledore has a plan . . . " There was silence for a moment. The voices became indistinguishable from each other. Then Snape said clearly,

"Whatever the Headmaster's plan is remains obscure. He has not revealed the details of it to me." His tone was fathomless. Harry had no idea if the other man believed him. But, after another minute, the door closed. He waited. His heart was thundering so loudly in his chest that he could hear it resonating through the quiet closet. He didn't dare make a sound-

Footsteps drew closer. He heard Snape enter the kitchen. The potions master flung open the entrance to his small space, causing him to retreat slightly. Snape reached in and grabbed him, pulling him back out into the kitchen once again. When he let go, Harry rubbed his forearms gently, casting him a questioning look. Snape's teeth were bared and his lips were trembling, and he looked furious. His black eyes glinted, promising murder.

"Sir?" he asked.

"You will not speak of this to anyone," he said through gritted teeth.

"No," Harry agreed quickly. "Of course I wouldn't." Snape stood there panting, staring at him. Then he veered back into the living room, leaving Harry alone in the kitchen, utterly confused. He soon came back from his retreat though, holding a small red ceramic jar in his hand. Harry watched him with interest, as he swept forwards, stopping in front of the fireplace. For a minute he thought Snape had gone totally bonkers. Did the pressure of his duties finally cause him to lose his mind completely? Then he threw a pinch of sparkling green powder into the mesh of logs and ashes. A fire quickly spurred to life. To Harry's utter horror, Snape stuck his head through the flames.

"Sir- " he gasped, racing forward to stop him. But the potions master withdrew his head upon his outburst, and, to Harry's amazement, Snape's head was totally intact.

"Be quiet, Potter," he snarled, "I need to floo the headmaster." Harry's jaw dropped.

"A-alright," he said, continuing to watch him, while he placed himself back into the roaring flames. He calmed a bit at the realization that Snape wasn't trying to burn himself, and it dawned upon him that this was yet another facet of the wizarding world to be revealed, which he had not been previously acquainted with. He made a mental note to ask Hermione about it later. The sight was fascinating. He found himself to be pleasingly engaged.

Snape crouched for several minutes in this manner, and Harry eventually got bored. He glanced around the room again, seeking some form of diversion. His mind wandered back towards the picture he'd found yesterday, which he'd desperately been attempting to keep from thinking about. No matter what he did, the idea that Snape and his mother had been friends, or possibly more than friends, drove him to an extreme level of discomfort. This was of course undermined, by the continual discomfort of being pressured by Lord Voldemort's prospects. Yet Harry could not help but to be preoccupied by that lesser of the two evils for longer periods. Perhaps this was due to the irreversible fact that they each had such a markedly different relationship to Harry that the difference was itself laughable. In the case of the former circumstance, well . . . he knew that he would always be the Boy-Who-Lived, so, he felt that it would be best to just regard that information in the same way that everyone seemed to.

Snape finally removed himself from the flames, moving into a semi-arc while he momentarily stared, drill-eyed, at the hearth. Harry watched as he straightened up, turning to face him with a snarl. He ignored the look, focusing instead upon the strange fire that was slowly started to diminish. The orange color left a dark blotch in its wake of a gray mound, which rose in the middle.

"The headmaster," Snape said in a low tone, "is insisting that the plan be executed sooner than we had expected." Harry could not look at Snape. He felt that if he did he would be in the position to be honed in the man's eye as a target for his dissatisfaction . . . and it was so fierce, that Harry did not covet that position, and indeed could not imagine a time in which Snape's wrath would ever be desired. Ludicrous. He unconsciously pressed himself firmly into the brick outline of the hearth. He allowed Snape a few moments to gather himself- or whatever it was that Snape did, he thought dryly.

"When will we be carrying out his plan?" he asked eventually, unable to resist any longer. A nasty smile spread across the potion master's sour face.

"Why . . . immediately," he sneered, eyeing Harry as though he were a bug that he would like nothing better than to swat with an electric muggle fly swatter. He did not like the strange glint shining through those ominous black orbs. He felt as though they were shooting him with an emotion that Harry could not quite pick up, almost as if standing with Snape in the kitchen served as a violation of sanity, and if he pleased, it would be wonderful to release some form of perilous insanity upon him. Harry swallowed nervously.

Before he had even processed the movement, Snape had somehow withdrawn his long, black mahogany wand. It rested in front of his black-framed face like a murderer. Harry sucked in a deep breath. He whispered an incantation. Within the space of an eye's blink if that could be measured in magical semblances, the potions master's form had vanished, as though it had never been there. Harry detected something akin to a rippling of air, like the snatches of frigid wind on a cold winter's night, seen only for a short and timely visit, before it blew away, leaving nothing in its wake. Harry however, glanced down at the heap of black robes on the floor immediately, understanding that the potion master's body and clothing had not disappeared. Small, barely discernible movements beneath the pile confirmed his suspicions.

Harry slowly approached the discarded, or, rather _unwittingly cast aside via unsavory circumstances_, he thought wryly, clothing, extending a hand tentatively so that he could uncover what was beneath the black fabric. As he expected, a scrawny black cat lay beneath it, hissing at him angrily.

"Well, you certainly behave like Snape," he muttered. The cat glared at him. Harry sighed. "I don't suppose it would've hurt to explain what I'm to do, before you transformed into your animagus form?" The animal simply stared at him. Harry shoved his fists into his pocket with mounting frustration. How did Professor Dumbledore expect him to work with Snape against Voldemort, if he didn't even have the necessary information? He gritted his teeth to stop himself from saying something that he would probably regret later, when Snape transformed back into himself. A spitting behind him caused him to jump back. He looked over at the fireplace, and saw that the flames were spurring back into life once again. He quickly cast his gaze at Snape, but the cat did not give any indication that he should be alarmed. Rather, it was sitting in a regal, straight-backed stance, watching the procession with a bored, disenchanted expression. Harry huffed loudly.

"Ah, Harry. I never did like the feeling . . . very difficult on the nerves, especially when one wasn't blessed with a strong stomach . . . " Harry jumped. It struck him that in the minute he had chanced a look at Snape, Professor Dumbledore's head had appeared underneath the mantle. Now, as the headmaster made a sour face uncannily similar to the one Snape usually wore, the rest of his body slowly started to appear. As he grew longer and longer, the white-haired wizard allowed his head and torso to creep outside of the burning rush, extending outward, into the room. Soon he was completely free of the fire, which again began to die quickly now that its charge had been released. Professor Dumbledore smiled. He was wearing long, flamboyant robes of midnight blue and purple, and the most outlandish hat that Harry had ever seen. It pointed upward into the ceiling, but was slightly tilted, and housed a large, garish star upon the matching purple and blue. Harry could have sworn that the star was winking at him . . .

He quickly pulled his mind away from these thoughts. He was filled with a strange gratitude at the headmaster's appearance, and couldn't help from showing it. Professor Dumbledore's blue eyes twinkled merrily at him.

"Harry, my boy. What a pleasure it is to see you after these many months. I would ask how your summer has been, but many of the details have not remained foreign to me I must say." He winked at him. Harry grinned, understanding exactly to what Dumbledore was referring.

"Good to see you to, sir. Um- " He gestured fruitlessly with his hand. Professor Dumbledore waved his own hand aside.

"Of course. My apologies, Harry. I really should have spoken to you sooner." Since Harry did not completely disagree, he did not say anything.

"Please, have a seat," requested the headmaster. He gestured towards one of the chairs at the kitchen table. While he walked over to one of them, he glanced down at Snape, and said,

"Ah! Severus. Please forgive me for not welcoming you in my usual manner. You were a bit difficult to see down on the floor." The headmaster turned back to Harry. "Professor Snape was not always one for greetings anyhow, just between ourselves." Dumbledore smiled at him. Harry grinned. They both heard a slight hiss at that, and Harry was forced to hide his face in his sleeve in order to muffle his laughter. Yet he could have sworn that the headmaster's lips twitched. What he would have given for Ron and Hermione to see this moment, he thought wistfully . . .

"Now, then," said Professor Dumbledore, making himself comfortable in the potion master's humble kitchen. "Let's get to work, shall we? I can't stay long this time, Harry, because unfortunately one of my oldest friends has requested me for tea this afternoon, although if I am completely honest I think that he finds, ah- shall we say- an inexplicable pleasure in simply offering me his rather hard biscuits." Harry grinned again. He couldn't help but to be highly amused by all of the headmaster's levity. He had missed being around people with a sense of humor for so long. Snape jumped onto one of the counters directly across from them, staring at the scene with an eye of nonchalance. Without sparing him a glance Dumbledore cleared his throat and began,

"You are well aware that Professor Snape has used a rare powder to heal his wounds, which, according to ancient magic, will also recognize you as his caretaker." Harry nodded, recalling that dark night that he had awoken from his nightmare, and the scene he had walked in upon, when Snape had transformed once again into an animagus. "The magic is not well understood," Dumbledore continued slowly, upon Harry's affirmation. His eyes were now focused somewhere ahead of them, as though he were not really seeing any of his surroundings. Harry wondered what his mind had dredged up out of the past. "You see," he said, "it is believed that when one uses the magical healing properties of 'Invectus Septimum' while in their animagus form, that if a magical being comes in contact with that person, a bond will be created between them." Harry opened his mouth, and then closed it.

"But, sir?" he asked finally, during a long pause, in which the headmaster appeared to have completely left the present and entered some unknown world of his own, "even if this- 'Invectus Septimum' does create a bond between- " he cast a furtive glance at the potions master, "Professor Snape and I, how will that help us to fight against Voldemort?" He recalled the earlier words he and Snape had exchanged, and how ridiculous the plan had seemed to both of them at the time. "How could it help us to be- you know- ready- if Snape was in his animagus form?" he asked desperately, casting Snape another quick glance. The cat simply watched him. Its face was quiet, still. He had no idea as to what he was thinking. Professor Dumbledore held up a hand.

"Ah, Harry . . . " he said, with the air of a father trying to patiently explain to his child that they had done something naughty, "you must trust me on this. I know that you and Professor Snape have not gotten along in the past, but, after all, he did take you away from your relative's abode, when he thought conditions were unsavory. You must . . . "

"I'm not talking about that," Harry said quickly, slightly confused about the headmaster's meaning. He himself had been extremely curious as to Snape's motives for removing him from the Dursley's, but that was a discussion for later. There were more important matters at present. "I just meant that I don't see how this will work- "

"And I have said that you must trust me," Professor Dumbledore said quietly. He watched Harry carefully for a moment. He kept quiet, thinking that perhaps he had gone too far. Finally the headmaster smiled once more. He stood up then, and smoothed his robes over. "Please do not worry, Harry. Professor Snape will give you all of the details that you need. Rest assured with the knowledge that you are in no immediate danger. I will see you in the short while. You must trust Professor Snape implicitly." He paused. "And now- " he said with an air of finality, glancing around with interest while he did so, at the pictures in Snape's kitchen, "I must see to my friend. Rather impatient, truly. You'd think after all this time . . . ah, well. Take care, Harry. You will see me again soon." And with that, he stepped again towards the fireplace. He threw in a pinch of floo powder and called out a name that Harry did not recognize. And he, himself, was left staring at a black cat with cool implacable eyes. He suddenly began wondering what he was supposed to feed Snape for dinner . . .


	10. A Prayer For Snape's Return

_**A special thank you goes out to: yamiduke13, cara-tanaka, hazeldragon, and notwritten, for their very special reviews! **_

_**Enjoy your holiday, and more importantly the chapter, since fantasy makes everyone's holidays, right? Haha- cheers to you! Please continue to let me know what your thoughts and feelings are, and contribute with the knowledge that your ideas might very well appear in some kind of subtle form in this, at some point. I am glad that everyone seems to be actively engaged at the moment.**_

_**Chapter 10-**_

_**A Prayer For Snape's Return ~**_

The cabinets did not seem to hearken to the Boy-Who-Lived, who actually could not detect anything in the cat's taciturn personality that he might glean assistance from. Severus Snape's kitchen was composed of several, hard-backed chairs and plain wooden storage functions that were engrossed with darker areas, or perhaps an infestation of organisms that Snape had brought home with him during a Hogwarts holiday- for potions. Harry stood aptly for a moment, rigidly maintaining his position. He did not particularly want to ask the cat what he would desire as a nourishing staple at this moment, when the animal was sitting so regally, and deathly quiet. Harry kept his eyes carefully averted from the sovereign black ones gleaming coldly out into the world of the dilapidated kitchen, prevaricating. He really wasn't welcome in this kitchen, it did not appear, after all. He examined his hands very closely for the next several minutes.

The potions master languidly swept across the counter-top, the sleek black streak dipping up and down in an undulating, snake-like trance. Harry discovered that his eyes were fixed upon its movements as steel would fall upon what was beneath it- it was an intensely bitter action because, while Snape approached, the vision obliterated his will to avoid the animal. Eerily swaying itself, back and forth, Professor Snape the black cat deliberately stole Harry's mind away. His resolve fell in two or three pieces, shattering silently about the darkened room.

Harry couldn't quite say that the cat was controlling him yet, but . . . his eyes roved downward at a sudden movement. The black cat was moving its paws reflexively. Perhaps Snape had a purpose in mind. The cat then stared at him haughtily.

He did not think that Snape could play his normal kingly role, for his capacities after all were somewhat limited in the furry body. And yet, Harry could not help but to think that regardless of who he was, Snape would play the part of the potions master anyway, and if there was something which he couldn't do as a cat, that, by magic or mysterious dark forces he would find a way. He was absolutely sure of it. Therefore, he found himself looking at the cat bitterly as he asked, with no small amount of apprehension,

"Er- what kind of cat food should I give you?" Professor Snape gazed at him with black eyes that glittered coldly. Harry wondered if perhaps a charm had been placed over the potions master so that his reserve for glaring would remain untampered with no matter what his circumstances might be. The cool fathomless tunnels that bored into him seemed to be spitting imaginary insults at Harry, and he couldn't help himself from placing a hand on one of the broken knobs to the cabinets. He wrenched it open with a jerk. The shadowy enclosure housed an array of sundry miscellaneous, and entirely useless items. Harry's heart sunk marginally as his eyes quickly scanned the store of ingredients, their glittering crystal tops gliding upward into the dark wooden enclosure. The fingers of his left hand drummed unconsciously against the frame of the small door, while the slimy articles from every imaginable potions walk of life stared back at him as they swam about within different-colored watery gels, mocking him. He closed the door over the unfortunate stock with a disappointed huff. He looked back at the potions-master-cat, caught for a moment by the frigid black eyes once again. The cat was dangerously calculating him. Harry readjusted the frame of his glasses.

"I'm not sure what you expect me to do," he murmured. "Besides, how am I going to know when you need to eat? You haven't developed any type of communication method with me or anything." Harry's anxiety somehow became inexplicably magnified at this point, for while the cat did not respond to his words, the gleaming in the ice-shattering eyes grew stronger. He could feel the hairs on his neck rising, one by one. Snape would surely murder him when he was in his adult form if Harry did not cater to his needs properly.

His mind began working furiously. He thought evenly on the many necessary acts of care that Hermione typically performed, when he watched her with her cat Crookshanks. The problem was, however, that he had not observed her often enough to know how to execute what she did. Harry therefore found that he was completely baffled by this situation, to say the least, but he figured that it may be sufficient for the present time, if he were to make a list of those various things that he would need while Snape was still a cat. So he sat down at the table, pointedly trying to ignore Snape's towering semblance; odd that the potions master had not lost his usual stance- his overall manner was so strikingly similar to his character, that Harry found it easy to disregard the fur . . . and, well . . . the paws. It _was _a little humorous to see whiskers upon his face, a small, wet black nose gleaming over the faint traces of his mouth, which curved outward into a smile. The cat hissed at him then, jolting Harry out from whatever trance had engaged him. To his horror, he realized that he had been smiling at the professor.

"Sorry," he muttered quickly, bowing his head over the table, and attempting to concentrate upon the interesting creations that the markings in the wood portrayed. He ran a smooth hand over the roughened bumps, desperately trying to force his mind upon the uninteresting task, jabbing a finger into a wood hole while his mind whirled. He fervently wished that he could write to Hermione, and simply ask her what he was supposed to do with Snape.

"I suppose that- you'll need a litter box," he said carefully, keeping his eyes averted from the cat. This was highly embarrassing for Harry. He would need to supervise Snape's- no. He wouldn't ever allow himself to think that. Harry shuddered.

In the meantime, Snape had jumped off of the counter with a light thud, and his scrawny body now swayed across the floor. Harry couldn't help but to chuckle lightly as his arched back portrayed a language that Snape probably did not desire to emanate. The tail flicked back and forth like the tail of a bird who had cheerfully decided to woo its little brown mate, because the tip was small, disconnected from the creature, and quite gay. This part of Snape was simply so unlikely, even with its cat-attachment, that Harry had to laugh. That turned out to be a mistake, though. Almost immediately upon the escape of the light noise, Snape swerved around, hissing and spitting furiously. The dark eyes glowered of their own accord, piercing into him such as small, fiery, mean sparks flying- from the tip of his wand. It was possible, of course, that Snape had retained his ability to perform magic. Harry held up his hands, guilelessly.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I- didn't mean to laugh. You just look much more like a cat than my potions professor." Snape hissed again, and Harry inwardly groaned. Why couldn't he just keep his mouth shut? He wondered. He suddenly had a horrible sinking feeling, which told him that by the end of this year he would easily have completed over a hundred detentions in the potions master's office.

Harry followed Snape into the living room, trying to study the dingy clutter of the boxes from where items he'd shifted through unwittingly lay. A vision came to Harry's mind of those extracurricular muggle attractions that only a wizard such as Mr. Weasely would probably find interesting. He allowed his right hand to fall upon one of the yellowed flaps that enclosed an old radio which he could glimpse slightly, within the darkened crack. And, suddenly, Harry had an idea.

He watched carefully while Snape jumped onto one of the cluttered couches, tentatively waiting for the moment of an opportunity that he may never have again, for the entirety of his life. Snape curled up into a semi-crouching position that oddly, made the tip of his long tail more prominent. Harry did not think that Snape had meant to attempt a comfortable stance, because as a cat, the display would probably not cotton to his tastes. He walked over to the cat after Snape assumed his position, in a slow and unobtrusive manner. He sat down next to him, licking his lips nervously. He couldn't help his need to scan the room frequently for fascinating key hints which would reveal more about Snape's family life. Telling Ron and Hermione what he had learned would be the highlight of his year, and would make the best breakfast that he had ever had, for Ron's unparalleled mirth would be much better, in a lot of ways, than pumpkin juice. At that thought, anticipation coursed through his veins, enlivening all his senses. He sucked in a deep breath, and leaned back slightly into the cushions. It was now or never at this point.

"You know," he said, directing his words to the air about him, "I think that the only person in the wizarding world who enjoys the art of using muggle appliances is Ron's dad." He stopped and waited. Snape did not give him any indication that he was listening to him, but Harry, relishing this moment wholeheartedly, continued anyway. "In fact, he makes all kinds of things that he tries to replicate according to whatever these things are that catch his fancy- for instance, Ron said that he put a car together this year." Harry paused again, forcing himself to muffle his laughter. He thought that he spotted a tail flick, out of the corner of his eye, but he could not be certain. The more that he tired to stem his ideas, the more forcefully they pushed against his resilience, it would seem. Before Harry could stop himself, he blurted out the issue that had become lodged in his mind, the words tumbling out so quickly that he did not bother to check them, while all his thoughts rushed forth furiously, almost as if someone had charmed them. It was as though a light had been turned on, and he found himself scrambling for the switch. But it was too late.

"Why did you take me away from the Dursley's? Why did you love my mum, and why did you live with muggles?"

In abject horror, Harry suddenly realized what he had said. A cantankerous clanging shot throughout his system, coursing through him like an insipid poison that was freezing every single ventricle in his nervous composition into solid ice. The cat slowly turned to look at him. Its cold, mirthless eyes stared right through Harry's own, almost curiously for a moment, as though Snape was mentally documenting all of his questions. Then the eyes developed an eerie glow that to Harry, was foreign and unnatural on Snape's whisker-clad face, and, for some reason, it absolutely terrified him.

"S-sorry," he whispered, knowing, even as the words came, that they were emptied into a space that was carrying them deftly into another world.

The potions master continued to stare at him. Then, without a backward glance, he jumped off of the sofa and regally walked towards the front door. Harry quickly raced to open it. As soon as the sliver was wide enough to admit Snape, the potions master glided out into the evening shadows. Although Harry couldn't exactly say why it was, his heart dropped a couple of notches while he watched the black streak gain length across the grass, until it eventually disappeared between two thick, towering oak trees. He had a notion that the consequences of this wouldn't be desirable. He closed the door, before sinking to his knees- and he prayed.

Before long, the setting sun smoothed out into a haze of dark clouds that molded into an infectious great design, which blackened at the same time, making Harry feel as if the Earth's dragons had come upon Snape's house in order to sit in wait outside of the front door. He felt as though he were staring into another vision of humanity while the pink completely faded, leaving him sitting upon a hard-backed chair before a window that displayed nothing, save for the bleak setting of gray and black in an expanse so wide, that it seemed nearly endless; he was certain that it would stretch on forever if he were simply to set foot outside the door, and would carry him into an eternal land, where the dragons would bear down upon him, mercilessly driving hard nails into his skin in the form of fire shooting from nostrils so wide that they appeared to be staring at him, like two small ghouls that were throwing nails after him. Harry was suddenly inundated by a furious rain of fire and nails at the same time, but the more he struggled against the black cloud of madness, the more tangible it became, until the dragon, for some reason . . . vanished away into the night.

If Harry knew anything about the potions master, he understood that he would take points from students with an indordinate amount of glee if they were late to class. It did not seem fitting, somehow, to envision him coming to a class, or any other obligation late, because it would undoubtedly interfere with the example that he regularly honed with clean precision, while he glowered upon a classroom filled with students, swept down the hallways in order to deduct points from whoever was unlucky enough to cross him- Snape would not bear extracting from his enjoyment, Harry thought dubiously. After all, if he arrived in disarray, with a bag of luggage at his side that was infinitesimally allowing some of the clothing to escape from the side of it, ten minutes late to class, Harry for one would have found it hilarious. Admittedly, he could run behind without such obvious debilitating qualities, but he knew that Snape would not allow anyone to mock him. Of course, since he had no control over what others did while in his animagus form, Harry would perhaps be one of the few who had the ability to do so.

He had to admit that if the professor stayed outside of the house until the darkness completely swallowed him up that he would be worried. After all, Snape had already been outside for several hours, and he felt a twinge of unwelcome guilt at that fact. Deeply set aside, lay the slowly festering guilt that if he had not mocked him, Snape would still be inside his house, and that he would most likely be eating on a can of tuna, before curling up by the fireplace upon a warm quilt. Now, it was much more probable that Professor Dumbledore would return in order to discover how quiet the house was, and the reason for its solitude. Harry felt shame wash over him at that moment, unwittingly coursing through his system, nagging him in a manner that caused him to wish more than ever that he had not acted with rashness. Suddenly Harry stood up.

He would go and look for the potions master. He couldn't imagine why Snape would have gotten lost outside his own home, but as a cat it must be more difficult to navigate, and defending oneself might be problematic as well in the case of danger. Harry attempted to stem the flow of his thoughts as they sped down this pathway . . . he knew that there was really no reason to be worried. Hastily, he sought out a lantern from the cupboards within the kitchen, knowing that it was a nearly fruitless endeavor, however, unless Snape's ingredients had lighting qualities, and had been charmed specifically so that they would magically point out a lost person in addition to whatever else they functioned for in a bubbling cauldron. But the idea was ludicrous, of course, for Snape did not own anything save for typical potions ingredients, and muggle- then Harry knew where he should be looking. The living room! Yet, as he traveled back into the dingy clutter, a distant noise caught his attention. He cocked his head slightly. So faint that he could scarcely hear it, a distinct, scratching at the front door alerted him to the fact that he possibly had a visitor.

Harry raced to the door and flung it open without a second thought. Upon the door mat, a sodden black ball stared up at him with a glowering face and a unique gleam in its impossibly black eyes, completely soaked, and looking extremely . . . unhappy.


	11. Serendipity

_**A/N: A special thank you to hazeldragon, oncecelestialbeing, and mambajama for their reviews on Chapter 10. As always, please feel free to contact me with comments and/or suggestions. Thank you all for your continuing patience with me. **_

_**For reference-**_

_**Definition of Serendipity: **_

_**Occurrence of events by chance, oftentimes considered to be a fortunate stroke of luck, or making discoveries by accident. It is a manner of finding things which are not sought after, or depicting beauty or the art of fate, in what we do not often see, in ways that are unexpected. Serendipity refers to spirituality by some, and merely, happiness or plain peace, and serenity, by other people . . . **_

_**A/N: Please remember that none of this belongs to me. I am simply playing around in JKR's marvelous works that entertain the many. Oh and, as well, that this does not follow every detail of the original series. I create some of my own, as well- happy reading!**_

_**Chapter 11-**_

_**Serendipity ~**_

* * *

It was terribly cold outside, but Harry found a light solace in the way that the soft drops of dew on the grass twinkled merrily up at him. His eyes fell upon the leaf lying at his feet, and he bent down to pick it up while it made a rather belittling attempt to run away from him- he was chasing a leaf around, beneath the porch, but Harry had absolutely no idea as to what implications this may have for him, so, he paused. In an unconscious gesture, his eyebrows waggled into the morning sun. Harry's breath stilled, while falling into a smooth block that dripped out into the cool air, in order to creep as a timeless crystal, before stretching out into the thin line of a tail- it wagged merrily at him before leaving, becoming less than a vapor through the biting cold.

If only he wasn't forced to think of tails while he sat outside of Snape's abode and the animal was inside in front of the grate. He might himself walk in at this very moment, creating a toasty morning for the small feline by setting a plate of warm fish and spiced apples perhaps, or a cup of cinnamon flavored milk, and a packet of corn flakes, or maybe a uniquely hone meal of Harry's own peculiar tastes . . . Snape would probably not appreciate what he fed him at any rate. But nevertheless he should try to place a bowl before him of pure enjoyment. His tongue darted out to wet his own lips while the boy's eyes sparkled with the various exotic delicacies that he could manipulate Snape into eating- until they fell upon the ground and he made a disgusted face.

When Harry finally caught the leaf in his hands that had, at last, settled into a groove which underlined the step, he sighed glumly to himself. The leaf shattered to pieces in his palm while he clutched it, reaching for the doorknob with his other. Both palms were sweating as the slab of thick wood keeping him separated from the bundle of viciousness inside opened slowly to a room shadowed even in the morning sunlight by furniture. Above Harry's head, a paint-chipped phenomenon that had grown to twice its typical size throughout the past week in an odd way that forced his eyes up to the highest box which sought the top of the china-cabinet, where it loomed over him in gaunt semblances of shadow upon shadow, made him pause. Somewhere curled in the passel was the formidable potions master, judging solely upon the flickering tail, as a light that blinked back and forth rather than out and in. Harry retracted from the now enormous, aloof design crawling into infinity- vintage cabinet, which had been last week so tame, but had now quit glancing over the room benignly in favor of glaring down at he, Harry, reproachfully.

He swallowed as he cast his gaze upon the fireplace. The potions master lay curled up into a tight, strained ball the night prior, but obviously he'd tired of that particular position. What Harry had assumed would manifest now taunted him mockingly, as the peaceful portrait in his head, fell to several pieces, and while his hand brushed against the tip of a flap, his eyes roved upward, to a face that eerily likened a familiar terrifying depiction of the man who had sprouted whiskers, the chilling persona of his potions master. Harry could not muffle the laughter which threatened to break loose from his clogged throat, because the reflexes were not working correctly, so, as quickly as his body could work, he managed to turn his head aside to hide it.

Harry could not understand exactly the manner for which scorn became so prominent within the potion master's features in cat form, because the dark sneer did not quite suit the small creature with his lengthy whiskers and his penchant for flattening his ears by the way a furious horse might, because it simply, inelegantly vocalized perhaps, did not suit. The undulating creature sifted away from the boxes creating a claustrophobic atmosphere, crept downward, reached the end of the towering pile near Harry's feet, and wrenched itself from the last crevice which caught the tip of its tail, landing with a light touch upon the roughened carpet soiled by a century old tea-stain, burnt to bristly singes, hissing. He grimaced, his hand opening reflexively as though to grab for the animal, but the potions master quickly obliterated this idea from his mind in the gurgling of its throat that bobbed up and down revoltingly with its adam's apple, making him step back, seeking out the window. Much more desirable he found the land circling the shadowy house to be in fact, in comparison to offering his shunned assistance to the irritable cat.

"You didn't eat anything last night," Harry mumbled. His gaze still rested upon a shaded tree far beyond the forest edge, sitting gracefully between two flanked oaks that had been reigning over the land for, well one hundred years he imagined. The sun had arisen several meters, arcing over Snape's cranky old estate with a glowing liquid siphoning its treasure into the tree on which his eyes rested. Last night, the potions master had hovered within the bows of one of these formidable oak specimens, swinging langoriously about the creature, with its sparkling ornaments of rain and little crunchy leaves . . . he turned back around towards the now rather squashed by almost sweet face of the potions master, and could not help but to feel a stab of pity. The moment lasted, not more than a bulb within the arms of a vicious fighting troll might be extended, for it shattered with a mean snarl. Harry stared out for one last, serene minute at the picturesque art of the dew-created morning, watching the glitter mask the normally stoic and mundane trees, before tearing his gaze away.

Snape had crawled upon his belly over the floor, much to Harry's surprise, who looked on at the spectacle with a grimace that he thought would mirror that of the potions master, were he in his usual dark persona. However, it might just be that the cat-Snape characteristic had become entranced by the inner spirit of the man, milking off the fury that he miraculously transferred to the face of the seemingly innocent feline. If Harry didn't know better . . . he would have thought that the slithering cat was scowling through its gracefully-curved mouth, although it would seem nearly impossible. But as to his antics . . . he gave himself up to utter confusion, for Snape now lay near his feet, as though he were playing dead. He scratched his head.

"Sorry? I really don't think I'm getting the message. Perhaps if you tried something else- er- another communications method?"

What in the world was Snape playing at? He wondered artlessly, his eyes fixated upon the dead-looking cat with a guileless shade in his dark green.

"What do you want from me?" Snape simply continued to lay there.

"Arrrrrrrgh." He put his hands up to his head, and clamped his forehead. He proceeded then to simply brush the hair out of his eyes. "Er- sorry. But since you don't appear to know what your request is I'm just going to need to get some breakfast, I guess, and take care of a few tasks that I have to do- if you want something to eat, or need any type of assistance, I'll be in the kitchen," he told the cat, promptly leaving him where he had become affixed, almost as though waiting for doomsday to arrive at last. Still shaking his head, Harry headed towards the kitchen door with the intent of scouting out something to satisfy his now angrily-vocal protesting stomach.

While Snape's kitchen did not have the necessary interior décor to imbue upon him a morning of satisfactory delights that Harry might glean from sitting in the Weasely kitchen, perhaps, he nevertheless saw merit within the gilded pictures that had once been properly taken care of. It was odd that nothing else in Snape's house had seemingly been attended to, for all of his other furnishings were so irreversibly dilapidated that he could not fathom what would be considered by Snape as significant in any way, yet since these pictures after all depicted his mother, Harry thought that they might be a bit worthier. He peered more closely at the picture nearest to him. The woman sat with her legs elegantly crossed while her dark hair flowed down over her back. The eyes staring directly back at him were Snape's. He sucked in a breath. It was a striking resemblance. Slowly, he cautiously fingered the small picture that he had stashed into his robe.

Harry glanced between the picture held in his hand, and that of Snape's mother. There could be no question as to the parentage of this dour looking person, for even the attitude that graced the face of the woman spoke directly to the pale, almost parchment seeming paper-thin skin of her son. Although . . . he thought, struck by curiosity that pulled him into the bizarre twosome merry creation, the mocking portrayal of the potions master and his mother, and her smiling features as she laughingly looked into the camera, must necessarily toss an obvious question- for it was not Snape and his mother and whatever he inherited. Within this very house in which his potions master grew up, was a creature who had survived the impossible twist of fate, since the small furry feline who knew nothing save for manipulations and trials concerning the darkest wizard, had, at one time, held his mother in esteem. A pompous maniac was at work, Harry supposed, while he glanced once more at the surprisingly pretty black-haired female resting upon Snape's cabinet, and he wished that the arrogant spirit would capture another object, for the connections between these people were not those that he wished to study . . . not really.

Harry knew that if ever there resided another time and place in which all of these people in this strange triangle happily existed, that he would not be able to understand the complexities of this relationship. While the resemblance was striking, Harry noticed more about the strange woman. Her manner was similar to that of Snape's, but the shaded loveliness in her eyes that had worn somewhat with time, drawn above the lines crawling down the sides of her high-set, faultless cheekbones, likened her in a small sense, to his own mother. Harry's eyes narrowed. What was it about the two that seemed so familiar? He felt a bit chilled, all of a sudden- more was at work here than he truly understood in this single context of his life, but the forces were incomprehensible.

Snape scratched at the door. Harry jumped up quickly. His eyes shot downward at the chair in utter confusion, for he did not even realize that he'd been sitting as he made the dark melee of observations . . . he would only create chaos, and the potions master thought that trouble was Harry's name anyway, but so lightly was that put that Harry Potter did not feel as though he would ever mock Snape's sentiment about his faults, worse than now. He shoved his own picture into his pocket, jerkily making his way towards the door as he made sure that the top of the frame was completely hid beneath the top of the black slit in his robes. Snape meowed as he grasped the door handle, turning it to emit a sleek animal with a squashed face resembling its inner person with more vivacity than Harry had ever seen in an animagus- even though he had only known one. But Professor McGonagall had been hard to describe, for she was so uniquely tailored to her own form in cat land that it was a mixture of sweet and, well, loveliness, that came to mind. Harry was starting to think that cats were perhaps not his favorite animal, and feeling rather glad, for the moment, that Hagrid had bought him an owl.

"I was just getting your breakfast," he told Snape, "I'm sorry that I became distracted." Snape hissed at him. He sighed, muttering under his breath, "Of course you would be a cat when transforming into your animagus, wouldn't you?" Snape hissed at him again, raising his hackles, his dark, sleek back undulating up and down, stirring up the cat fur that crept upward like small, prickly black, sharp little knives, as though he were a black porcupine that had the grace and manner of a snake. Harry rolled his sleeves up so that he might be better able to scrounge through the cabinets, seeking a smelly old fish or maybe a dead rat to feed to the potions master. He began opening drawers and cabinets with more vivacity, feeling a grin tugging upon the corners of his mouth at that idea. As he shuffled through the cabinets, he noticed out of the corner of his eye that Snape had decided to play dead again.

"If you want to play dead that's really your business," Harry said absently, opening and closing random drawers as he circled the kitchen, attempting to fight off the apprehension that now threatened to make its presence known to him. He started however, when he felt something soft and smooth caress his lower leg, and glancing down, saw a thick scarf of Snape-created material lying across his feet. The cat's tongue was hanging out of its mouth grotesquely, and the small, beady black eyes were rolled back in its head.

"Urgh." Harry grimaced, disgusted. "Get off me." He bent forward to pull his pant legs closer to his ankles, but he realized that due to Dudley's shorter frame, no matter how large the body it was unfortunately weighted down by, the sad skeleton was not long enough for his clothes to make a good fit. So he resigned himself to shaking his feet to try and rid them of the potions master, but the animal that was Snape must have felt comfortable just where it was, for the cat stretched out langoriously, opening its slack mouth wider to emit a yawn, its stomach protruding in the air. Harry looked on at this horrible spectacle with distaste.

"You know, you aren't much different in cat form Professor, than you are as a wizard," he observed, reaching down in order to manually pull the cat to another section of the kitchen. The cat wouldn't budge. "I can't figure out how to take care of you properly if you don't give me any space," he fairly growled at him, definitely annoyed at this point. Snape finally allowed him to drag him over to the other side of the room, to Harry's immense relief, where he continued to play his revolting game at the wall, leaving him enough room to finish his hunt. But a few minutes later left him with no more direction than he'd had previously, so when he withdrew from the small fridge with an undersized jar of milk held out in his hand, Harry felt a little discouraged.

"Well," he muttered, staring at the black roll with a guileless eye, "I suppose this will have to do for now . . . but I'll write to Hermione today and ask her for some advice. See, she has a cat of her own, and, so, yeah," he finished lamely, as Snape turned his squashed head around to face him, a familiar gleam in his eyes once more, "I'll just write her in a bit here, as soon as I give you this." Harry pulled a small porcelain bowl with a large chip lying across its lip rather meanly, as though just waiting for a victim to jump into its low jagged dip- "I'm sorry about this bowl, Professor," said Harry, shooting Snape an anxious look, "but I couldn't find anything in your drawers that was much better." In fact, although Harry didn't say anything on the matter, every single item that could be used for dining services that he'd discovered was cracked, or in such a state of total disrepair that it was not fit for use. He had a difficult time choosing one that seemed to be the least intimidating of all the rest, but considering the fact that the potions master was now forced to work his bodily functions in a slightly different way, perhaps he had even less control somehow, although Harry sincerely hoped that this was not the case.

He set the bowl down before the cat, who merely hissed lightly at him, before flicking its tail once, and turning its head away in a lift so that the cold little black nose shot into the air, even though Harry couldn't help but to think of a princess who was too young for the attitudes of the adult royalty. Harry clucked his tongue.

"Come on, Professor. Drink your milk," he tried to prompt, in what he hoped was a gentler tone. Harry paused. He thought hard for a minute about the games that Hermione oftentimes played with Crookshanks when she wanted to coerce him into doing something that the animal despised, but the wagging toy mouse that came to mind did not lend itself to the coal black eyes staring at him calculatingly, and he almost laughed. Suddenly he had an idea.

"Hey," he said, considering the black cat in front of him thoughtfully, "I bet that you would really cotton to owning a pet name, wouldn't you?" At this, Snape hissed at him spitefully, and his tail swept back and forth viciously. He had never before displayed such vitality in his cat form, but Harry went forth with his idea candidly, placing a finger up to his chin in a pretend contemplation that he was milking up exquisitely. He would probably never get another chance like this in his entire lifetime, and he was not about to waste the opportunity.

"How about Stag? My father's patronus was a stag, you know . . . " Snape hissed again, his cold black eyes promising him the deadliest murder. "Or we could call you Raptor, since you are rather similar to a dragon, aren't you, Professor?" He gazed into Snape's black eyes for a moment, until finally, he knew what it was that he had been thinking of, when he made the connection between Snape's mother and Lily Evans. The impression of fate imprinted itself against his mind strongly, as a heavy boulder that cast its weight upon him. He had thought that a higher force was at work, when he glanced between the three of them, and he knew that something had bound the three of them together. And suddenly he had his answer.

"I'll call you Serendipity."

And with that the cat, much to Harry's chagrin, turned around, showing him its back-end.


	12. Unexpected Circumstances

**A special thanks to **_**hazeldragon **_**and **_**almightyswot ~ ~ **_

**Happy New Year readers! It's a tad longer than I expected, but I hope that you'll enjoy it anyway. I had an uncanny amount of fun writing it, to be true!**

**God bless you and yours during this holiday season.**

**{Please remember that all of this is JKR's. Thank you so much for your support.}**

**Chapter 12-**

_**Unexpected Circumstances ~**_

* * *

He lay stretched across the faded moss-green sofa, while the cat, he had dubbed irrationally, yet irrevocably, 'Serendipity,' as the mat in front of the lesser degree, fireplace with its pathetically unsuitable design of the engraved claws.

Harry glanced up from the book he was reading so that he could gaze out of the window, albeit that the view laid out in front of him was caressed continually by shadows, twirling his pencil absently within his fingers. Not more than several minutes ago he'd sent off his letter to Hermione Granger, so the strange yet familiar feathers of his owl littering the floor in various and inexplicable areas caused Harry to wonder about the manner in which Hedwig had left him. She'd been disturbed in some way about the parting, flying in circles several times around the room before finally, in a mistrustful gesture, sticking her leg out for Harry's letter, shooting him a spiteful glare. He was now feeling a pang of guilt at her passing, even though he knew with absolute certainty that she would be back within a couple of days. He sighed glumly. Living with the Dursleys certainly taught their victims what the consequences of flying free usually were. He felt rather disillusioned at the moment, and the animal that he was now apparently- even if it was rather obvious- the caretaker of, did not liken itself to anything resembling the role of a humbled comforter in the slightest.

The idea of the potions master, caught in the mysterious act of reciprocating Harry's expressions of caregiving was not only ludicrous, but somehow, the animal underneath the fireplace was much moodier than the usual cat. He grinned wryly to himself. The reasons for this were not difficult to determine, but Harry had to admit that even after spending a year at Hogwarts he felt meeker than he had felt in awhile within the knowledge of, well, how very little he knew. His thoughts were vaguely entrancing to him while he looked on at the sleeping black phenomenon, who had rolled over onto its back to foist its tongue upon the world at large, as its slightly cocked head allowed Harry an ample view of Snape's beauty . . . yes, how very little he knew, indeed.

Harry Potter hoped against hope that Professor Dumbledore would soon arrive at Snape's house once again in order to relieve him of this terrible burden that was out of his control.

Not long would it be before Hermione gave him some advice, he fervently thought as beads of unwarranted sweat plastered his brow. He reached up to swipe his face with the sleeve of his red t-shirt, trying to ignore the long, rippling bunched end that fell down his chin, for he'd known that this year, he could at least buy new clothes. Perhaps Snape would take him to Diagon Alley if he told him that he needed to go shopping for his wizarding wardrobe before the start of term? He wondered, without any conviction whatsoever, for the thought was at best, one that could be used for entertainment purposes- yet in the meantime, he should get dressed and perhaps, he would finish the book that had engaged him for a bit. He had to admit, that _Quidditch Through The Ages_ was a fascinating read and he gave Hermione a great deal of credit for her taste in gifts, even if they were educational.

Taking two stairs at a time he traveled up to his bedroom, holding onto the banister to retain his balance on the precarious set that led up to the long hallway. Harry did not wish to think about how the gilded mirrors adorning the walkway demonstrated the stillness of the house, in their fine architecture dusted over with layers of crusted, forsaken years that were now suspended on those ghostly structures. Harry passed by one of the quiet mirrors, and stared at his reflection for a moment. His tousled dark hair stuck up in a shocked bird's nest atop of his head as it always did, and grimacing, he attempted to flatten it over. His eyes left his reflection to trace out a foot-long crack that measured the entire length of the mirror's side, as he lifted a hand slowly, lightly brushing over it. The secrets that this hushed, lonely and long forgotten house kept hidden, he could never imagine . . .

Harry hurriedly changed into a different pair of jeans and an old T-shirt, unable to depict anything from his trunk that offered him a decent appearance, but at least he'd adorned new colors . . . maybe that would distract from his blatant wardrobe dilemma, he mused cynically. Putting all of the unfortunately-timed musings aside, he went back into the cluttered living room, prevaricating on the matter which had such unfathomable implications attached, that Harry quite wondered whether or not he could do anything to undertake it. He did not have the abilities to mesmerize or entrance the potions master after all, so being an active participant in Dumbledore's scheme was surely troubling, if he was meant to be active in fostering this sort of relationship thing- indeed, Harry was at a sore loss for inspiration. Active was a relative term, after all. No amount of tangible effort could force Snape into trusting him in the role of a caretaker.

How did one communicate with a cat? He might ponder over this question for years, but the more he thought about it, the less his prior experiences lent themselves to his current pleasure. He was utterly certain that his owl Hedwig would not help him to figure this one out.

"Professor," Harry said softly, walking over to the now languidly resting creature, whose half-open eyes faintly challenged him. He bent down to his knees, affixing himself upon the floor so that he was level with him. "I wrote to Hermione this morning, just to see if she had any advice to offer about proper management, and, er- care. I didn't give her any information concerning our arrangement though," he added quickly, noting the way that the black eyes had narrowed like whirling, liquid flames of an oblique poison being generated through mean slits. Harry held his hands out.

"You don't own anything remotely similar to edible nutrition for a cat," he told him, donning a look of simple bemusement. He was truly confused about the plans that Snape had drawn up, or rather, the total and complete lack of that sketch material. Harry had not been able to discover the smallest shred of evidence within the house which indicated any preparation for Snape's imminent but long-term capacity as a sweetly innocent feline. Snape, seeming to ignore him with a faultless exhibition, a small twist of his lithe body and a flick of his head into the air, and it was utterly confirmed that he had- walked in gangly fashion towards the front door. Harry followed rapidly, but before he touched the handle, cast a furtive look at the cat, biting his lip.

"I don't really know if you should- I mean if you trot out into the rain again, you will become a wet mat once more by the time you're recovered, though I would never leave you in the storm consciously, Serendipity," Harry told the animal, who as his professor found a rather egotistical part of his less than human nature, promptly let it free through a grinding, overbearing hiss, which seemed to take a tremendous amount of effort, like as if Snape had locked a magical motor in his fur-clad body for occasions just such as these. Retaining his dignity or rather his attitude, Harry supposed, the fury-bent potions master would fight for even as a cat . . . although it he were perfectly honest with himself, as a familiar he would no doubt enjoy having a pet name. Harry frowned down upon his professor.

"You know sir, it would probably help to maintain a pet name in light of what Professor Dumbledore requested of us," he told him thoughtfully. "I think that he meant for us to establish some kind of a connection through this potion. I am not certain as to the measurement in depth of it," he said wryly, a bit disgusted, as well as made apprehensive by merely vocalizing the idea to the potions master, "but what I am trying to say is that, well, there has to be a purpose in all this, right?" His voice trailed out and about into the air, while Harry cocked his head, waiting for the tune of disapproval that would inevitably indicate Snape's repulsion at his words. Silence continued to beleaguer his senses however, so he cautiously locked eyes with the now quietly sitting animal. Snape's small black orbs were twinkling at him in a fathomless way.

"I was saying that there is some kind of risk involved, and if this will help- then, well it can't hurt, can it?" Harry asked in a lowered tone. Snape merely continued to stare at him. Rolling his eyes somewhat discreetly, Harry opened the door, watching the tip of the creature's tail flick with anticipation as it whipped out. He blinked several times as the black dash darted throughout Snape's yard in the bright, poisonously-insidious sunlight, marveling at the pace of the visually mite-sized potions professor. The sun was awfully hot. Harry placed a hand up to his forehead to lessen the glare, as the thought crossed him that the cat shouldn't say in this head for long, before another followed it- in two days it would be his birthday. Harry tried hard not to think about it, for he had become fairly immune to his birthdays throughout the time he'd spent with the Durleys by generally pretending that they did not exist.

He made the decision to scavenge through Snape's cabinets once again in pursuit of something that not only tasted as though it would go through his immune system without too many negative side effects, but which, with any amount of good fortune, he would also enjoy somewhat. Of course the problem remained, and Harry could only shake his head at the contents splayed out to him after he had grabbed at the handle of the first drawer-set. Scones of the same variation cluttered the green velvet so worn by time and age, that he made a sour face at the raspberry delicacies which did not tempt any longer. Harry raised his eyebrows to the ceiling, tutted, clucked his tongue and shut the atrocity back within its candid description of things that he did not want to name, but even after they were locked away, he still grimaced, repulsed by the dilapidation of those old scones, much worse they were than worn out . . . he gently caressed his cheekbone absently, until at a brilliant yet unwarranted glare, his eyes closed, while he clamped a hand before them. Something that did not seem quite natural unrelentingly shot towards his face, and he assumed that a trick of the way the light had made a beautiful dace through Snape's fine outer frame of a forest and upon the landscape at large, had caused the switch. But, as Harry slowly opened his eyelids, the window did not emit the spectacle of some remarkable pattern of sunlight created by the trees and a corresponding sequence of shadows . . .

No lonely semblances of crafty beauty littered the yard, as they had done the previous morning. In fact, all Harry could see was the usual gloomy picture of an enormous expanse of trees . . . yet, as he gained the ledge of the window and quickly swiped one of his long sleeves across the fog, he saw another addition to the swaying shadows of dancing- a figure, moving with jaguar speed across the green acres, towards what he presumed was the entrance, or rather, the way out of Snape's property. Harry fell back upon his haunches, while his mind went into a panic, as though someone had flipped a switch or pressed upon a button of some sort, which was now electrifying his thought-process to an inordinate extent, shooting down all of his rational brain cells with the rite of reason. He had to find Snape.

The image had listed to the assignment of imprinting itself with a deathly symbol across his mind, a flowing black wizarding persona that somehow spoke of murder. It had been tall and stoic, with a purposeful manner in which it had strode, formidably straight-backed and somehow, in a way that he couldn't explain it carried with it unidentifiable madness, that which he had become familiar with at the end of his last year at Hogwarts, when Harry had come face to face with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Harry could no longer think about anything. He needed to find Snape at this very moment. He abandoned everything else completely and fled in the direction of the front door. And when he wrenched it open roughly, to his great, pure, unadulterated relief, a minute-sized furry black, sleek animal, by the name of Serendipity, or so he rationalized, sat upon the doorstep.

"Snape!" he cried out, "Er- I mean Serendipity- oh well, nevermind. There's something that you need to know this very minute," Harry said in a lowered tone, his voice laced with a subdued fear that suppression did not entirely shadow. The cat blinked serenely up at him, but Harry could not elicit any emotion from those swirling, strange black personalities to interpret for understanding. He therefore just waited while the cat crossed the threshold into the house, trying not to stare at Snape's gangly tail, with its almost elegant tip, and instead focused upon telling Serendipity what he needed to know.

Making sure that the door had closed them in securely by grasping onto the unsuspecting innocent knob and forcefully cramming his thumb into the push-button, Harry swiveled around to face the diminutive potions master with a growl in his throat- which as well promptly died. He chewed on his lower lip while he stared at his little charge, before shaking his head roughly.

"Look," he said, bending down to knee-level as he scrutinized Snape's glittering black tombs carefully, "I'm well aware that you aren't in a position which allows you much choice in the matter, Serendipity, but I really don't feel comfortable- urrrrgh, do you need to retain your cat form, while I'm telling you this, Professor? You make a fine animal, sir, but there was someone looking in at the window, just a few minutes ago, well no- um, a few seconds- oh, well, nevermind. The point is that I think we're in danger," he said honestly, as the animal-Snape lunged from the floor onto the sofa, with a glare that brought Harry a lovely reminiscent quality of context. But, before he could become inundated by the past for an instant, the fateful creature who was Snape- a.k.a. Serendipity, rose furiously onto its hind legs, hissing ferociously, baring is teeth, so that the sharp, needles with a heavier assemblage, arranged more like those of a shark, and spitting at him in the most terrible way. Harry no longer saw his potions professor, but a ravenous, wild beast that stole away all his senses, save for an utter terror at the implications of Snape's current behavior. He therefore abandoned everything save for this dire message, swiftly shoving away the junk on the other edge of the sofa, and sitting down beside the creature.

"What can I do?" he asked him, desperation beginning to wipe out each cell in his nervous system, "I swear that I wasn't doing anything rash Professor," he said nervously, while the cat finally sat back, "I was only trying to find something to eat, and then I felt a light shine into my eyes, but I thought that the sun had sifted, at first," he added hastily, "until I realized that the idea was not quite in order, of course, and that's when- " the cat hissed viciously again however, cutting off what Harry had been planning to enumerate, but perhaps any further expression did not lend itself to necessity, since he did not feel much like providing Snape with explicit details about his folly. The cat had landed on the ground once again, gracing the floor with circles of himself- Harry stared on in disbelief as his professor-turned cat raced around through the most lighthearted and gay spectacle, in a near prance of graceful madness, so elegant was the black feline on its toes while Serendipity ran in an odd, rushing ballet. And then, all of a sudden, he was nonexistent.

Harry's jaw fell open with horror at the complete absence of Professor Snape, until an even sharper fiend, one more deadly, took the place of the potions master, which caused the young wizard to back off in total terror, until that sharp foe he had presumed to be the darkest wizard that had ever lived sharpened into a tangible, chiseled, long nose, an overbearing bat's formidability, and a great sweeping darkness, that eventually flowed around the man they adorned gently, discreetly yet somehow tastefully- and Harry breathed an enormous sigh of relief, watching from a cut in his vision still centered within reality's context while the trademark flames of black material licked his professor. In that moment, Harry had never been gladder to see anyone, but his vision was, after all, showing him only- well, it was just rather obstructed.

"Potter," the man who had just evolved out of cat form hissed at him. Harry's vision cleared quickly as the reality of his situation became prominent. Harry gulped while he met Snape's danger-daggers, thinking that it was Serendipity indeed for those angry orbs to retain their talents even during his cat-interment. He could not imagine a place in which they did not exist purely for the sake of making him feel what no one else could ever reciprocate. Harry nearly smiled very weakly, but the insipid glare eliminated his foolish meanderings of thought- and he could not look anywhere save for at Snape's quivering scowl, those features that might turn deadly, might speak the killing curse even . . . although that would perhaps be premature, he realized on second thought, given the circumstances. Instead of a curse to eviscerate him, came a low growl,

"Explain." Harry furtively lifted a hand up to his head, ruffling his hair nervously. "Right. Well . . . as I said before- "

"What did the person look like?" Snape asked him rapidly, ignoring his attempts to communicate his message, his face shadowed with utter fury, as he began to pace. Harry swallowed once more.

"Well, he was rather tall, I think, and he was wearing dark robes, a bit like yours." He flapped his arms through the air in an off-beat attempt to put a spin upon the message he wanted to emulate, trying to lighten the mood while he gestured towards Snape's robes- the potions master paused at the sight of this unwarranted display, quirking one of his long, pencil-thin eyebrows upward. Harry felt his face heat up with embarrassment. Snape placed a hand to his mouth, emitting something like a cough, which to Harry, nevertheless sounded a bit suspicious for one.

"Indeed, Potter. And is this- all that you have to offer on the matter of this dangerous adventure which you willingly thrust your miraculous body into, caught as it was by the unexpected glories of my house . . . or . . . perhaps," he said in a lower tone, his eyes starting to narrow in upon Harry, "You became . . . bored, and decided that you might infringe upon my gratitude even further?"

"No- " Harry started. "But Snape had already swept away from him, the edge of his thick robes scarcely brushing against his knees as he rushed past him to the other side of the living area towards the fireplace. Snape did not even seem to remember that he'd slept on the mat here in front his very own mantle for the past two days. Harry did, however, and had to make an uncommonly brash attempt to muffle his laughter- it sounded a bit as though he were choking. The potions master revolved around slowly.

"You- were- imbecilic to make such an attempt, Potter. I fail to see how you took everything that I have done for granted. " His nostrils flared outward at this point, forcing the laughter out of Harry's throat as he remembered the manner in which that adorable cat-smile had been re-invented by Snape as he'd caused it to attempt scowling, the velveteen smile-trace replaced by the meekest attempt at evil imaginable. And now the master of potions stood before him with a glare that incomprehensibly favored a cat's in Harry's mind- almost as though he'd lost the rat that he'd been trying to catch. Snape appeared to be completely oblivious to Harry's nostalgic wonderings.

"What- may I ask- are you laughing at?" he spat out, his pale face turning an ugly shade of puce, while a vein in his temple threatened to explode, washing the room with all of Snape's disgusting juices. Harry smiled at that thought as well.

"I- I'm sorry," he tried to address the potions professor in a manner that sounded absolutely contrite, but Snape apparently did not believe in his attempts.

"You have jeopardized our entire situation!" he spat again, and now Harry felt a true twinge of guilt, as all of the humor left, in a flutter, as though it had never been there to begin with.

"I honestly didn't mean to," he said hollowly. "I was just trying to get something for breakfast, and to make another effort at trying to find you something, sir," he said, casting Snape a look that was actually very close to being apologetic, "since I hadn't fed you in so long, and that's when I felt the light shining into my face. By the time I spotted the intruder, he was already miles away," Harry finished slightly glumly, a feeling starting to settle in his gut that he didn't like. Snape whipped away from him again and let out a slew of curses. Finally he faced Harry once more, and now he detected purpose gracing the potions master's cold features.

"We will need to leave the house, Potter. Gather all of your possessions and meet me back down here in five minutes." Harry nodded his assent, not even thinking to question his words. He ran upstairs and threw all of the drawers open heedlessly, pulling out all of his clothing items as well as his meager extracurricular objects, most of which consisted of gifts from his friends at last year's Christmas, pushing them all into his trunk mercilessly. By the time he ran back down to meet Snape, there was a minute to spare. The potions master was bent down in front of the fireplace, and although the sight was somewhat unsettling to him, Harry did not make a wild attempt to stop him this time. He removed himself a few seconds later, simultaneously extending his arm out. Harry looked up at him confusedly.

"Take my arm, Potter," Snape said, sounding to him, a bit disgusted at the thought of having to touch Harry. Yet, he did as Snape asked, and a moment later they were sucked into that precarious vacuum that made Harry feel as if his body had irrevocably and forever left him . . .

When they landed, they were in the middle of a large field, decked in a design of wildflowers which seemed to be arrayed by the essence of innocence, for the showers of pink, baby-blue and some unusual crystal-maroon, the latter of which Harry did not think he could possibly describe correctly. He glanced around, seeing nothing but a wide expanse of flower-covered meadow everywhere he looked.

"Sir . . . " Harry said slowly, the question in his voice blatant enough for Snape to hear. But the man raised one thin, spindly finger up to his pale lips to quiet him. Harry swallowed. Snape then began walking, keeping an even pace as he traipsed across the meadow in an eerily quiet manner, almost as if he were expecting something to jump out at them- which confused Harry even further, since anything in sight was plainly visible. He never paused though, setting off in a direction which created so many twists and turns upon the marginally hilly plains with a deliberate stride. It was clear that Snape had visited wherever it was they were headed many times in the past. After an interminable length of time, when Harry thought that he could go no further underneath the extra weight of his leather trunk, Snape suddenly paused- Harry stopped a few paces behind him, at which point he suddenly realized something- Snape's hands were completely empty. Before he could stop himself he muttered to Snape's back,

"Didn't you bring a trunk?" Snape glanced back at him, seeming distracted. He noticed the trunk-clad upon Harry's knees, which he'd rested there during his pause for air, and, to Harry's surprise, pulled out his wand, murmuring,

"Of all of the idiotic- " a minute later, Harry's luggage had shrunk to an impossibly small size, about the height and width of a mug, which he could slip into his pocket without much trouble.

"Thanks," he whispered. If he were honest, he was not completely sure why he was whispering however. "Er- is it okay to talk?" he asked a bit more loudly, feeling uncertain. Snape waved a hand behind him, which Harry took to mean as an okay. He seemed to be concentrating very hard upon something, although Harry still had no idea what that could have been, since there was nothing within the vicinity except flowers. However, as he raised his wand during a muttered incantation, a shimmering before them became apparent. It slowly started to solidity into a form of some kind, but for several moments Harry could not help but to think that it would not last for much longer, since it seemed to be molding and then collapsing back into its odd, shimmering beauty intermittently. After about a minute of this, solidity seemed to win over, and the form became a beautifully designed, completely solid statue of a naked Grecian woman, who, on second glance, was actually wearing a flowery gown that had been carved in a step-by-step process, for the sculptor had been thinking about changing in the literal sense of that word, for the woman appeared to be in the process of getting dressed. The statue was completely white, and stood almost a had taller than Snape. It had appeared without any kind of an infrastructure, and her bare feet were stooped within the dirt beneath her.

"Er- why is she changing?" Harry asked confusedly, glancing at Snape. He was staring at the statue as well, looking faintly repulsed by it.

"Albus," he sneered.

"Um . . . sorry?" Harry asked him.

"This is one of Albus's crude jokes, I am fairly certain of it," Snape said a bit more loudly, and Harry glanced back at the strange persona once more. After a minute of scrutinizing, although he was loathe to admit it, he agreed with this assessment. To his disgust, it did look like something that Albus Dumbledore would propagate, even underneath the guise of magic, as some sort of joke.

"Well, let's continue, " Snape muttered, and Harry trailed after him, asking,

"If we're going into hiding, how will the statue help us to gain our destination?"

"The statue is merely a landmark," Snape said. "The blasted object changes every year, according . . . to the headmaster's fickle desires apparently."

"Oh," Harry said, forcing himself to choke back his laughter. It seemed just the sort of think that Dumbledore would do in order to have a go at Snape. Finally, the professor paused again, drawing out his wand, and whispering another incantation. This time, another strange shimmering light became apparent, but it formed this time now into a cottage, adorned with a thatched roof, two overhangs and windows that were charmed to resemble flower beds, that on closer inspection, actually offered a view of the interior. Harry could not see anything beyond a wooden chair and a table though, until Snape grabbed at the cozy little door and wrenched it open-

Harry gasped.

Sitting there happily in front of the fireplace warming themselves, were the two extremely surprised bodies of his best friends, Ron and Hermione.

* * *

**Please feel free to leave comments, questions, or that marvelous suggestion. I feed off of them as though they were gift-wrapped packages of chocolate. Cheers, everyone! Please glean the most out of this wonderful holiday spirit =) _SM~_**


	13. Mysteries

**~ A special thanks goes out to hazeldragon, oncecelestialbeing, and ShinigamiRae for last chapter's reviews. **

**Keep in mind that while the characters will always stay in canon, the plotline is AU in various details, such as, for instance, Harry's knowledge of legilimency and other sundry items. Please let me know if you have any questions, as all suggestions and comments are entirely welcome.**

**Disclaimer: All of this belongs to JKR.**

**Please enjoy the chapter!**

_**SM ~**_

* * *

**Chapter 13-**

_**Mysteries ~**_

The bread that Hermione had baked had been charmed to send off a toasty scent continually, for it would constantly stay warm and soft, since she had used a charm that would enliven Ron's nose for the entirety of the time they spent here, if this one particular baked good was any kind of a judge. He had sat back upon his leather armchair, which looked oddly displaced in this humble thatched house, but nevermind the details, Harry supposed- with his knees resting upon the arm of the chair, in a position that would have made him grimace, were it not that he was covered up with a blanket, eliminating the possibilities that appearance might otherwise provide. He glanced across the room at Hermione, who was stroking the fire contentedly. She met his gaze evenly.

"We are not allowed to do magic, Harry," she whispered. "You know that I charmed it when we were still at Hogwarts, so I don't really know what else we can do. Everything needs to be done the muggle way, so you and Ron must stop complaining about the particulars." Harry looked at her oddly, wondering what exactly Hermione was referring to, since particulars were not exactly an excellent term in the vocabulary that they would-

"Ron is going to stay like that and act like a total idiot," she said, glancing at him, at which point his best friend gave a rather bizarre kind of jerk, looking at both of them while a scowl graced his features. "Particulars meaning side effects that do not align themselves with reason," she said with a slightly haughty air about her. Ron screwed his eyes up as his eyebrows bunched together.

"Oh, honestly Ron!" she exclaimed. "Do you have to hang off the edge of the chair like that just because there is something that's edible in this house for a change? After all, it isn't as if Professor Dumbledore didn't provide us with plenty of resources-"

"Plenty of resources!" Ron all but howled, and Harry looked up at his friend with a mildly placed surprise upon his face. He threw his arms up over his head, gesticulating about the admittedly cramped but somewhat, after all, cozily bred enclosure laid over in a thick blanket of pillows scattered across the carpet, and several throws charmed to emit constant heat to ensure their constant warmth- "plenty of resources! How do you call this, Harry look around you- how can she say that we have plenty of bloody resources? Not to mention the fact that there's no food in the pantries save for those old crumpets, and cruddy raspberry scones that Snape brought with you." Ron's voice sounded a bit strangled to him, as though he were attempting to strangle himself while simultaneously attempting to make his point with an inordinate amount of effort, with immense deliberation. Harry had to stifle his laughter.

"Ron!"

"I'm sure we're going to be fine, Ron," he said. The redhead finally leaned back into his seat entirely, with his knees drawn into his stomach, elbows pulled back into his body which sagged down into the cushion lifelessly. Now Harry did laugh.

"Honestly Ron, I think that Hermione's right. From the explanations that you two gave me, I think that it's safe to assume that Dumbledore considers this plan to be long term." He lowered his voice an inch or so, as his look grew more serious. "And he obviously thought that I needed help." He cast both of them glances that were truly grateful. Hermione smiled back at him, while marginally, the corners of Ron's mouth lifted up at him also. "I'm sure that he wouldn't allow us to want for anything if you are both going to be staying here with Serendipity and I until the start of the term." He was going to imply that perhaps this would last even longer, but during the second thoughts he was having, Ron suddenly burst into raucous laughter.

"Serendipity! I still can't believe that he allowed you to call him that," he choked, and Harry merely met his look a bit wryly. "I mean seriously- imagine Snape, greasy git of the dungeons, a cat! With a name like that, no less," he added. "Really though, in all honesty, don't you think that it's a bit too much? I mean, do you really think that the git deserves that much- er- time and effort?" He sputtered in the last sentence, as though he were having difficulty expressing himself with the meager number of words that his vocabulary allowed him.

"I didn't name him on purpose, actually," Harry replied, feeling a tad nonplussed by the reaction of his friend, although amused to some extent as well. "It just happened in a sporadic moment. He was looking at me with those bright, black eyes of his, in his usual manner, although it did look a little strange, since well, you know- he was a cat and all- and then I thought of fate . . . " he trailed off lamely, while Ron and Hermione stared at him, apparently baffled. Harry was starting to wish that he hadn't said anything, and eventually took to staring at the clock, for inasmuch as he wanted to discuss Snape and his less than typical summer with them, he did not really desire to disclose everything.

There were not many ways in which one could scrutinize a clock, but Harry after awhile found it to be surprisingly interesting. The black-clad portrayal of time housed between two raving, roaring lions set about three feet over the mantle had been sculpted from painted stones, to the very tips of the lion's claws- well, perhaps they had not at that point been painted. Harry would assume Snape charmed them to be painted black, were he to be absolutely honest with himself, merely judging upon the pointed tips as thin as scythes protruding from the paws, which were faultless in their pigmented design, or solid blackness. Ron noticed the look on Harry's face as he studied it, and said,

"Eerie, that thing is. I think that Snape charmed everything in this cottage in order to demonstrate his own tastes or something." He cast a quick look at Hermione. "We were saying just before you two arrived that it must have taken an extraordinary amount of energy to cast intricate magic on every single thing in here- objects, I mean, because it was probably all from the category of dark magic." Harry's eyes widened.

"Dark?" he said after a pause. He noticed that Hermione's eyebrows were furrowed. She seemed to be contemplating heavily before speaking.

"When Professor Dumbledore told us about this safe-house, he seemed to be a bit hesitant about telling us anything about it. He essentially said that it belonged to a dear friend of his whose name he couldn't disclose, but then we realized that something wasn't adding up." She stopped, a finger tapping surreptitiously upon her chin. She then sighed, looking at Ron. "Well, as Ron and I told you when you first arrived Harry, the house was spellbound when we entered originally with the headmaster, and, well he couldn't lift the barriers without incanting a series of extremely complicated spells, spells that you or I . . . " she trailed off. Harry however, was a little lost.

"Wait a minute," he said slowly . . . "are you trying to say that- that Dumbledore lied to you about the ownership of this cottage?" He glanced quickly at Ron. "You're saying that it doesn't actually belong to Snape, or- Professor Dumbledore?" She didn't answer him for a moment. Ron for his part, had gone quiet, and now had discovered a newfound interest in his hands.

"That's exactly what I'm trying to say, Harry," she said in a low tone, shooting Ron another glance. "I know that not everything adds up, but the headmaster was extremely suspicious in his reaction to my questions."

"What exactly did you ask him?" Harry asked her, somewhat surprised by her brashness. Professor Dumbledore had never given any of them reason to doubt his judgment in matters such as this. Hermione shook her hands out.

"Well nothing that was rude. I just asked him why we were staying here, rather than Hogwarts, or someplace that was already enchanted to keep out followers of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. But he merely looked out of the window for awhile as though he hadn't heard, and when Ron repeated the question- "

"It was out of character for him, I'll admit," Ron added. "Honestly Harry, do you think that he's been eating too many lemon drops lately?" Hermione slapped him lightly, while Harry chortled.

"What?" he asked defensively. He looked back down at his hands. "Well, mum always said that the reason that Fred and George weren't a part of this world entirely was due to the fact that they ate too many sweets growing up- made them barmy, I guess. And since Dumbledore went all spacey and sort of zoned out, well I just thought that- "

"Oh, stop it, Ron," said Hermione, beginning to sound slightly annoyed. "You know that's got nothing to do with it." And Harry, no longer able to hold back, burst out laughing.

"Well," Hermione continued, her face pinker than it was before, "I am only saying that I think it's very possible that this cottage had originally belonged to one of the followers of- He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named," she tapered off, slightly out of breath. Harry thought carefully about what she had iterated, while Ron began plucking the seat of one of his plump cushions.

"I suppose it's possible that it belonged to one of Lord Voldemort's supporters," he said eventually, ignoring the way Ron cringed at the use of his name, staring at Hermione. "I mean, if- if they took it back from him, or whatever- it might, well, I dunno . . . I think that would explain why Dumbledore keeps the place for safekeeping purposes, at any rate," he surmised, and at this, Hermione looked a little bit proud.

"Exactly," she said in a very matter-of-fact tone. Ron sat back deeper into the chair and sighed. Harry thought that if he sunk any further into it that the chair would be liable for self-defense, on its part, and he sincerely hoped . . . on second thought, that the furniture wasn't enchanted.

"Er- none of this stuff," he waved an arm around in a circling gesture, "none of it is enchanted, is it?" he asked dubiously. Hermione frowned.

"You mean will it respond to any of our actions? No, I don't think so." She glanced down at the plush cushion that she was sitting on near the base of the mantle. "It seems pretty cozy so far."

"Ha, cozy," Ron piped up. "I think that- " and here he pointed toward the clock over the mantelpiece, "is just the opposite."

"Oh Ron, honestly," Hermione muttered. The three of them fell silent. Harry began wondering what exactly Snape was doing during the extensive amount of time he seemed to be spending outside of the cottage, while supposedly enchanting the perimeters of the abode in order to make certain that they would not be vulnerable. He thought there may have been merit in the original conversation that he'd executed between him and his two friends, which had apparently dictated this end of the iteration. Had he not originally imagined that those incidences at Snape's house were in some way connected to the plethora of witches and wizards that still followed Voldemort, at least according to what he knew about his lasting supporters, then Snape may not be at the prime of this discussion at all . . . and in fact, Hermione would not be badgering him about the possibility that they were living in a place populated by those who were friends of Lord Voldemort. Hermione leaned forward with her elbows barely touching her knees.

"Tell me again, Harry," she said, her face completely serious, "What exactly occurred during your dream in order to make you react that way? And what did the potion involve that Snape used? What color was it? Give me the name slowly again. I think I should research it . . . " she mused, holding the tip of a quill up to her chin thoughtfully. Harry sighed, again. This was becoming extremely tedius. And he did not particularly enjoy being reminded of his folly that took place after that one particular nightmare, and his regret of informing them about all of this deepened.

"I told you," he said slowly and deliberately, "the spell was called _Invectus Septimum_ and I think it- "

"Was it actually a spell or a potion?" Hermione asked, interrupting him, now scribbling furiously on a piece of parchment that Harry had no idea she'd had with her, or how she had conjured it.

"It was . . . well, both I guess. I don't know." He clamped his hands together, frustrated. "All I know is that Snape used it to cure his wounds. Actually he had me use it . . . although I shouldn't have, I guess, considering the circumstances."

"No, you shouldn't have," Hermione said sternly, and Harry glared at her. Ron continued to remain silent. "Although it does seem as though he and Dumbledore had planned it that way," she added as an afterthought, "because how else could he have instigated the entire proposition? He must have planned it all out with Professor Snape ahead of time." Harry did not completely disagree with this. Ron finally moved himself to the edge of the chair and bent himself downward. He had nudged so close to the edge with such a gusto in his desire to participate apparently, that he was nearly hanging off the end of it, and Harry was afraid he would fall.

"But even if they had talked about it beforehand, that wouldn't provoke Snape to take Harry into his house," he said, his voice lowered. Harry glanced at Hermione. She had a look across her face that marked the perfect cross between contemplation and some sort of bizarre amusement. Then, in a lighthearted and playful tone which surprised him, she tossed out,

"Oh, well, I don't think that Snape really had a choice in _all_ of the plans." Harry and Ron stared at her. She chuckled faintly. He was beginning to get a bit of a chill.

"I know that you've never liked Snape, Harry, and I will admit that at times he treats you, well . . . let's just say that you are not exactly his favorite person." Ron snorted. "I think that's putting it lightly, mate, don't you?" This was of course directed towards him. He pulled a frown, but he was still watching Hermione, trying to take in what she said.

"Yeah . . . yeah I do," he answered Ron's question distractedly.

"Well . . . " she said, with an air of mystery about her that Harry was not sure he liked, "Maybe Professor Dumbledore thought that this would be a good opportunity to foster other um- shall we say things that he's wanted to play around with, or which he's wanted to experiment with but never had the chance to, before now."

"What?" Harry and Ron both said together, uncomprehending.

"Oh, isn't it obvious," she threw out impatiently, "he wants you and Professor Snape to get along, Harry." He just continued to stare dumbly at her.

"Why on earth would he want that?" Ron buried his head underneath his arms, muffled by his own laughter, and Hermione merely looked on at them slightly reprovingly, but, much to Harry's relief and pleasure, she let the matter go.

* * *

It had not been longer than four or five hours since they had regrouped and Harry had filled them in on everything which had happened to him since they had last met. Ron had detailed the goings on which had occurred over his summer, which turned out to be quite interesting, and Harry had felt a twinge of jealousy over the fact that he had actually _experienced_ a summer, whereas he himself had merely been taken away from the Dursley's, to be placed under Snape's guardianship- the irony of that situation had never escaped him. He did not really know what to make of all of it, so he would rather not contemplate the circumstance at all. However, Ron's dad had gotten a promotion at the Ministry, so the nature of his own break from the following school year was filled with interesting tales of what they had done with the increase in money, and regardless of the fact that they hadn't gone anyplace exciting, they had been able to afford a new muggle car to replace the old one that Mr. Weasely had been tampering with; in fact the majority of the money seemed to have been spent on Mr. Weasely's strange desire for muggle things.

"But he bought new clothes for me as well," said Ron proudly, beckoning to his shirt, and for the first time, Harry noticed that he wasn't wearing the usual old clothes his brothers had always passed down to him from last year, but a brand new red one, with a magically enchanted picture of the Chudley Cannons on it.

"That's really nice," said Harry, smiling at his friend's enthusiasm, making a special effort to look happy for him. He noticed that Ron's ears were a bit pink.

"Well it's not as if Dad has had many opportunities, for, you know . . . " he trailed off, and Harry had the grace to lower his eyes. "It's not likely that the money will last that long, either, what with the Ministry's prejudice against muggles and everything, but it's nice for the moment."

"Nevertheless, Ron, we're really happy for you," Hermione said sincerely, while Harry nodded his head in agreement with her. Ron's ears turned even pinker. He gave a slight cough beneath his armpit.

"Not a big deal really . . . Mum's the one that made the big to-do about everything, you know . . . " Harry opened his mouth to respond, but at that exact minute the door to the tiny cottage swung open, causing the three of them to spin around at the rush of air that they all felt. The warm summer air felt nice to him, even in the face of the fire, burning steadily due to Hermione's penchant for warmth when it wasn't truly necessary, for Harry could always sense the tantalizing aromas that wrapped themselves about him in the fluid substance. Unfortunately though, the picture that now stood in the doorway threatened to crush all of that.

"Having fun are we?" Snape sneered. None of them said anything in reply. Completely ignoring them, he swept past the group almost with the skill of a black and dangerous cobra, as though each movement was somehow calculated to cause them to fret over what his intentions could possibly be, and they probably were, Harry thought. He moved into the small adjoined kitchen, without so much as another glance in their direction. Harry and his friends just looked at each other.

"Do you reckon he's staying here for good?" Ron asked. Hermione scoffed. "Well we wouldn't very well be here if he wasn't, now would we?" she responded haughtily. Harry didn't say anything. He was listening intently for any sign or signal that Snape was leaving the house from the other end of it, but no such luck was forthcoming apparently, for mere minutes had passed before he again entered into their midst, causing his heart to sink. He stood by the fireplace for a moment without casting them any kind of attention their way whatsoever, before Hermione finally spoke up.

"Professor Snape? I was just wondering whether Professor Dumbledore had mentioned the point at which you were next going to turn into a cat? It just seems as though it's a bit soon," she said, wringing her hands together while she spoke, "Because I haven't been able to buy any extra resources, and if we split your cat food between Crookshanks and yourself, well it will only last a few days, and- " Harry looked at her, vaguely thinking that perhaps someone had slipped her a potion that she hadn't noticed at some point, for questioning Snape about his part in all of this was uncommonly daring, to him at least. She broke off at a silencing glare from Snape however, which seemed as though it had been created for the sole purposes of melting off her toes.

"Ms. Granger, I can assure you that such won't be necessary," he said in a silkily smooth voice.

"But then- "

"Shut your mouth, girl, before you are indeed very sorry," he spat at her, his face lighting up with a demonic glare suddenly. Harry glanced her way and saw that her eyes were not suspiciously bright, although she was fervently trying to hide the change in them, simply by averting her head right after he had seen. He felt a sudden hatred towards Snape bubble within his chest.

"Now," he said quietly, walking in a full circle around them very slowly, until he again reached the edge of the mantle. "You are both here directly under the headmaster's orders, do I make myself plain?" Both Hermione and Ron nodded vigorously once his gaze was directed at them. "You are here because there seemed to be little choice in the matter," he continued sneeringly, "and due to the fact that there are other forces in action than those which we can safely monitor from Spinner's End." Since he didn't elaborate, Harry assumed that this was the name of the house from which they had just come from. He knew better than to try to vocally confirm this though, as Snape did not seem to be in the mood for the softer pleasantries of Harry's mind. He almost grinned at that notion.

"Is something funny, Potter?" Snape spat at him. Harry made an avid attempt to school his expression. He looked up into the potions master's angry face and said, very blandly and what he hoped was innocently,

"No, sir."

"Excellent," Snape said softly, his black eyes now boring into him with that familiarly toxic condition that Harry knew was called legilimency, but to him it was only mind-reading, with the added bonus of Snape trying to get into his head in order to discover all his secrets . . .

"Then I trust we will not need to have this discussion again," Snape said, his soft voiced now laced with a hint of curtness, as well as finality.

"Er- what discussion, sir?" Harry asked him. He immediately regretted his question, for it caused Snape's lips to form into a particularly loose scowl- he was graced with an image of one of the ghosts of Hogwarts flying in front of him, screaming like a banshee; he found that Snape did not fit into the description of Peeves very well, as this idea left his mind. Harry opened his mouth again, but Snape forestalled him with his hand. All he did however, was give Harry an eerily placed smile, which Harry was not sure had an ominous aspect to it because of the manner in which it was given, or merely due to the fact that it was on Snape's face itself.

"What you don't know can often benefit you," he said, and the smile appeared to grow a tiny bit. Then he swept back out of the house and into the warm summer's brightness, which was still poignant in the crux of the evening's stillness that had befallen them.


	14. Fear, and Barmy Happenings

_**A/N:**_

**Happy back to school term for those who are attending! Leastways, I am one of them- jolly for me I suppose. I hope that you enjoy this chapter. A special thank you to hazeldragon for her marvelous review-work, and the rest of you, please continue to maintain stability =)**

_**Note:**_** Harry and his friends are now aware of house-elves. This may differ slightly from the original series. **

_**SM ~**_

**{Disclaimer: None of this belongs to me, of course.}**

**Chapter 14-**

**_Fear, and Barmy Happenings_ ~**

* * *

Harry and his friends continued warming themselves by the flames for longer than they should have done, since Ron's inabilities to remain still for longer periods of time without comfort soon became prominent. Harry shook his head, in an open-mouthed gesture of disbelief when the redhead stooped down upon his knees suddenly, extending his finger towards that long, comfortable-looking cushion that he had been eyeing out for several minutes, before he stumbled down towards the mantle, shoving the armchair backwards into a precarious shelf of books. Hermione flung out her arm just in the nick of time, catching him around the middle before he could spiral headfirst towards the black, opaque piece that glittering eerily them overt the fire, mocking Ron, it seemed, as though it were all its fault.

"Ron!" Hermione chastised her frizzy born mass of curls flying about her face as she pulled Ron unceremoniously back into her own cushion with her, brushing a few sweaty strands of them aside. Ron attempted to pick himself back up with dignity, brushing off his rumpled clothing, even though his clothes were not dirty. Harry could not stifle a small grin at this action.

"What are you smiling at?" Ron growled at him, while Hermione surreptitiously hid her mouth behind her hand, stifling a short, dry cough. Harry saw only a brown bird's nest, since had swiftly turned away her face, making him feel a bit touched by the manner in which she'd allowed her friend to try to maintain his current composure, so Harry took pity on him as well.

"Nothing, absolutely nothing." Ron wasted no time in putting as much space between himself and Hermione's cushion as possible, glaring at her overly-large pillow as though it had personally offended him in some way. Harry, seeking a distraction of some kind, stood up, stretching languidly as he kicked his own pillow away from him, and he watched it cartwheel towards the fire. He felt as if he had been sitting down for his entire lifetime.

"I wonder where Snape's been off to?" Ron asked, as he stretched his own long legs across the footstool that he'd drawn up to his chair- the whole room was now scattered with the products of their small soiree that they'd held, and, as Harry looked around, he sardonically thought that if anyone walked in at this moment, they would most likely have been under the impression that a hodgepodge of Gryffindors had actually been there for perhaps a week, feeling the effects of large amounts of butterbeer.

"I dunno, but maybe we should- um- clean up a bit before he gets back. I don't think he'll be too happy with us if he finds out that we trashed his cottage while he was away."

"Oh . . . yeah . . . right, mate." Hermione rolled her eyes toward the ceiling and let out a great huff.

"Honestly, you would think that after a year of living with your roommates that you would understand the basics of cleaning," she said, while Harry and Ron simply looked at one another.

"Why would that help us?" Harry asked, blankly. Hermione looked at them both as though they had both been living on another planet for a decade.

"Because living with others teaches _responsibility_," she said, stressing the word as though talking to children that were very young. "Everyone in _our_ Common Room tends to place their items in an alphanumerical order, so that no one becomes confused when they need to retrieve anything." Ron gaped at her for a minute, until he abruptly closed his mouth with a scoff.

"How many people in the dorms actually listened to you?" he asked sarcastically, emphasizing the word 'listened.' Hermione's face seemed to go a shade of red that Harry could not discern very well in the subtle light, but when she moved closer to the fire the heat from the flames danced off of two, merry cheeks that resembled bright plumbs. He had a bad feeling that there was more to the endeavor than she was explaining, so when Ron began to press her once again for an answer, he stepped in, saying loudly,

"Ron, why don't you start cleaning up while Hermione and I go make dinner?" He didn't truly know were he to be fully honest with himself, whether this was a plausible excuse or not, but since Hermione cast him a grateful glance and fervently sent her eyes in the direction of the kitchen he figured that the effort was not made in vain, and in any case Ron now seemed to be distracted. When he looked about the room with an eye of confusion though, with an apparently negligent intention, Harry had a feeling that the room would suffer underneath his cleaning abilities- yet to be fair, he did notice that his friend stacked his own pillow upon Hermione's before he left- now, he was seated at a small round, wooden table, watching as the bushy-haired Gryffindor's genius bustled around an elf-sized kitchen, which was, in fact, so nearly unrealistically tiny, that he presumed a house-elf belonged in it, and he asked Hermione about the notion.

"No," she said in an airy whisper. "I haven't seen any around here, but, Harry . . . " she was in the process of putting up a kettle to boil water, but she stopped when she'd placed it on the odd, circular stovetop, and hesitated, almost as if she were considering the process.

"Harry," she turned around rapidly, facing him, causing him to start out of his chair, so startled was he, by her disjointed movement. "Oh, I'm sorry," she said hastily, grabbing him by his elbow as he caught the edge of the table with his lightning reflexes, "I'm sorry," she repeated under her breath, blushing once again, while she brushed off the sleeve of his t-shirt- or rather patted it from the side, while she gazed a bit vacantly at the stove.

"It's alright," he said quickly, gently tugging his arm away from her, "really, Hermione. Um- isn't there something- ?" he left his question hanging openly, not quite sure how to broach whatever it was that she wanted to discuss.

"Hmm? Oh, ahem, yes. Hang on a minute." She moved back towards the stove once again, proceeding to turn on the device so that a red light soon began to flourish, and a minute later, they had sprouted into small flames that flapped against the bottom of the kettle from underneath it. She busied herself for several minutes, until Harry, deciding that he might as well make himself useful in the meantime, began taking the time to explore the meager cabinets, which looked rather pathetic from his height, but when he bent down to knee level the lowly doors were a bit more appealing. He opened one at random in order to find nothing more than several, half-eaten crumbling scones of raspberry, and he felt his heart sink. Perhaps Ron had been correct in his presumption that Professor Dumbledore had not left enough for them to eat.

"Did Professor Dumbledore leave anything in the pantries?" he asked Hermione, the door hanging open to reveal the interior while he continued to search through the others for something edible. She reached above her head and threw out two more doors as she continued to boil the water, and then set out two porcelain cups upon the counter. Harry noted that the quality of them was rather nice.

"Professor Dumbledore left a few things for us, but he said that we needed to seek out our own resources for the most part."

"Seek out our own resources?" Harry asked her, confused.

"Yes, well, you see, due to the fact that we'll be living here for several months, and because it's not terribly convenient for the headmaster to visit us every week, or however often he would need to, he suggested that we learn to grow food through magic. He said that the decision was ultimately ours, but since I thought that it was a rather neat idea, and that it would be nice to be able to use _some _magic occasionally, I agreed."

"And Ron?" Harry asked her, suppressing a slight grin.

"Well, he agreed after I convinced him." She turned around and faced him, a sheepish smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. Harry grinned back at her. He thought that it was more likely she'd had to coerce him into this part of the deal, but he refrained from saying so. He himself was curious as to the process of such a challenge, and he wondered how hard it would be to grow their own meals.

"It's not as hard as it seems," she said, apparently seeing his thoughts in his facial expression.

"I've already begun several experiments in the vegetable patch outside the back of the cottage, and I'll be happy to show them to you tomorrow. They are rather difficult to see in the dark." Harry nodded.

"With the use of magic it's real easy, and I've already got some experience growing food in the muggle manner," she added, a spark of happiness lighting her features. Harry was impressed by Hermione's skill level, and, while he knew that they weren't allowed to do magic anywhere within these perimeters, and that Hermione was raised by muggles additionally, he simply wasn't accustomed to seeing witches do anything through manual labor. His respect for his friend, or perhaps merely his appreciation for having her to rely on in times like these, heightened marginally.

"Anyway," she said, catching his attention once again as a cup of plain, apricot tea was shoved before him, "I wanted to ask you something," she said, but, just as she sat down and placed a hand over her own cup, a clatter at the window startled them both, although it prompted Harry to actually jump out of his chair, while plunging his hand into the pocket of his robes for his wand fervently as he faced the window brashly.

"Harry!" Hermione whispered to him through gritted teeth, tugging upon his sleeve near the elbow desperately, managing to pinch him in the process- "get out of sight, quickly. What are you doing? Harry- " But, just as he threw an arm out to push her away none too gently, a flurry of white at the pane blossomed into view, making him gasp, loudly.

"Hedwig!" He ran to throw open the latch for her, hearing Hermione breathe a sigh of relief behind him. The owl swooped into the room after he managed the action, flying cleanly over Hermione's tea products from the beginnings of her endeavors, and landing with an adventurous, or rather a triumphant hoot, as it settled down onto the top of one of the rickety chairs, and then holding her leg out for him to take regally. Harry patted her on her back appreciatively while he untied the little scroll that was hindering the owl's scaly feet, knowing that it was her reply to the question he'd sent to her a few days ago. Hedwig, in the meanwhile, hooted determinedly, nudging his hand that was on her back.

"Hey, do you know where Snape's been keeping anything besides raspberry scones?" he asked. She got up from her seat and threw open a few drawers to the left side of the room that he hadn't yet searched. After a minute or rummaging, she pulled out two cracked and hardened biscuits.

"Will these suffice?" she asked him. Harry sighed. They would have to make do he imagined.

"Yes, I suppose so," he answered. She handed him the two dried up pieces of bread, which he consequently placed up as an offering to the owl, who eyes them carefully for a moment, before nipping on one of them tentatively. After taking this small bite however, she simply stared at Harry with her yellow orbs as though she were scolding him for not having anything better to offer. The door adjoining the living room was soon filled by a shock of carrot-colored hair.

"Hey, what's going on in here? I thought I heard a crash."

"Hedwig," Harry answered. "She just returned."

"Oh. That's great, Harry!" Then he frowned. "Wait a minute . . . I didn't realize that you hadn't taken her with you." He watched as a look of dawning recognition crossed over Hermione's face at that precise moment, and realized that she hadn't known either. Suddenly the irony of this entire situation struck him. They had been living together, and chatting amicably for almost twenty four hours, and yet, as though completely oblivious to what they were doing, had not yet shown an iota of concern towards the fact that they had been placed here save for a mere, lighthearted chat before the fireplace. Harry found that slowly he was becoming angry, and, try as he may to ignore the bubbling sensation that gurgled inside his stomach, he was, in the end, unable to control the feeling. Therefore, when Ron and Hermione had their backs turned he did something which was completely unintentional, that terrified both of them, when he accidentally used the backside of the empty chair beside him as a vent. As it hurtled several feet across the floor with a clatter, he simply stood there, watching the result of this action with the air of someone who had just been confounded. When he looked up finally to meet his friend's gazes, he felt his cheeks light up with a flame.

"Harry mate, what did you just do that for?" Harry simply continued to look at both of them. All of a sudden, he felt like running. Breathing heavily while he tried to get himself under control, and not comprehending why he had just done what he did, he walked right past the two of them, grasped the door handle, barely aware of the action, and sought out the front door of the cottage, sparing not a glance at his surroundings, pulled upon the lionhead knocker in front of him, crossing the threshold. Thereupon, he walked straight out into the night, ignoring the tumultuous pounding in his chest, heedless of where he was going. A raven streaked across the sky over his head, catching his attention momentarily while it loudly fled towards the encircling woods, and for some reason the screeching made his hair tingle. He stopped and hesitated when he reached the wall of endless trees that were now flanking him on every side. He could hear the distant yells of his friends, but he remained atypically oblivious, since he could hear only one thing right now; his thudding heart, as well as the message that it was sending him. A message which Harry knew he could not ignore, much as he might want to.

He had been previously aware of the fact that Voldemort was after him, and that part of the reason that Snape had taken him away from the Dursley's was because he had been sent to watch over him by Dumbledore; obviously his plans had been thwarted due to unexpected circumstances. However, much as Snape may have despised the job, he'd agreed to maintaining the position of Harry's guardian ever since then, and though all the intentions themselves were not completely pristine, he was nevertheless one hundred percent certain the Professor Snape had agreed to performing this strange spell continually because Harry was in danger of being pursued, and . . . maybe even captured by the Dark Lord. The constant dreams he'd been having were not a coincidence, just the same as that stranger's sporadic appearance at Snape's house now began to seem much more plausible. Whatever it was that had driven him and the potions master to this tiny place that appeared to have been conveniently set up for them by Professor Dumbledore, in a fortunate act of serendipity . . . Harry scoffed t himself when the word crossed him- was, in retrospect, though not fully comprehensible, formidable- perhaps tangible would have been better suited to that statement. A sick feeling of foreboding suddenly jabbed his stomach. With a speed that was fortunately born from being the youngest Quidditch seeker in at least a decade, Harry spun about on the spot.

"Potter . . . " a voice growled, which sent a gentle relief coursing through his veins, while he thought of the irony that mental statement indicated, "May I ask exactly why you have deemed it appropriate to once again break the rules?" the familiar voice sneered, the top of the hard boots upon the grass preceding the man who was clad in an array of trademark black robes that uncannily made him look like an overgrown, sweeping bat. Harry heard him hiss, _lumos _quietly, and a second later, Snape's pallid face came into view. It nearly floated unsupported through the trees, because the black robes were barely discernible through the gloom, making him look ghostly. Harry averted his eyes quickly, muttering under his breath,

"I wasn't aware that there was a rule against going outside, sir." He tried to keep his voice as polite as possible as he said this.

"Really," he sneered, yet again, and Harry felt his blood start to boil. He was in no mood to be taunted by Snape, particularly in light of what he managed to do a few minutes ago in the cottage, because his feelings right now were- wait a minute. A rather strange and unexpected idea occurred to him. He took in a deep breath and blew it out noisily.

"Sir . . . " he said, his voice slightly gritty, "I wondered if I could ask you something?" Snape's eyes narrowed at him through the darkness. Harry thought he detected a trace of surprise that flitted across his features, but it was gone as quickly as it had arrived.

"I suppose so Potter," he said, his lip curling slightly, "as long as it is- relevant." Harry didn't know to what exactly Snape was referring, but upon seeing the strange gleam in his eyes, he was graced by a sneaking suspicion that he had an idea s to the nature of his query. Harry glanced in the direction of the cottage, and found himself grateful for the fact that Ron and Hermione hadn't pursued him to this spot. He forced himself to look into Snape's eyes levelly.

"I think that Lord Voldemort is possessing me."

"Do not speak the Dark Lord's name!" he spat in return, although to Harry's relief Snape did not immediately refute his statement. Instead, he was quiet for several moments, his eyes narrowed now to slits, although they did not seem to be focused upon him; Harry had the impression that he was contemplating something.

"Why do you suspect this?" he asked him at last, still glaring at a low bramble handing over Harry's shoulder that was casting an ominous shadow over them.

"Well," he said quietly, "because of the dreams I had you know, when we were still at Spinner's End," he finished, remembering the name from Snape's earlier reference. "And, because- " here, he paused. Harry was not sure whether or not it would be wise to disclose what had just occurred or not. But at this slip of his tongue, Snape's eyes immediately snapped onto his face once again, his nostrils flaring open as though he were a dragon, who had just made the most delicious discovery-

"Because what?" he asked him. Harry could practically see fire spouting out of that nose- there was not getting out of it, though, anymore. Regretfully, he explained further.

"When I was inside a little while ago, I became angry about something," he said, being deliberately vague, "and I sort of- well, I blew up at my friends, but- " Harry suddenly stopped, now realizing that although he himself knew what had taken place, he had no idea how to describe it or how to voice the suspicions he harbored. "Nevermind," he muttered finally, wondering why he had been stupid enough to say anything.

"Potter- " Snape opened his mouth and then abruptly closed it. Then he snapped his fingers before him impatiently. "Come with me," he said, rapidly moving away from their designated area by the trees as he swept away towards the other side of the woods. Harry made to follow him, confused by the hasty change in their interaction. He trailed behind Snape for about a minute, nearly hurtling into the tall form of the potions master when he halted, having taken up a rigid stance just outside the back of the cottage so quickly, that it made Harry think that he had done this deliberately. He stumbled forward a few paces over several suspicious objects, that protested by squelching in a murderous fashion beneath his feet- this gave Harry the sinking feeling that tomorrow morning's breakfast would consist of raspberry scones. Come to think of it, since Hermione had made no attempt to go beyond the tea set, they would need to eat those delicacies tonight, too, most likely.

"Watch where you're going, Potter," a mocking voice said, behind him. Harry turned around quickly, glaring furiously.

"What is it that you needed, sir?" he asked, deliberately placing an extra emphasis on the last word. He couldn't see anything through the dark save for Snape's white face, which still floated about in such an odd manner that it caused Harry to shiver. Soon, a long, spindly white appendage also became apparent, as Snape placed a finger over his lips, in running it across the line of his mouth silkily thereupon.

"Shhh. We are going to test the headmaster's unlikely, but ah- possibly valid hypothesis once again." And, before Harry's very eyes, Professor Snape suddenly began shrinking to his great astonishment, becoming smaller and smaller until, at last, he was once more staring into the obsidian eyes of a very familiar feline.


	15. A Tricky Spot

_**A special thanks goes out to: **__**hazeldragon**__** and **__**Mystical32**_

_**A/N: I am so grateful to those of you that continued to be engaged by this story- it is really a diverting write for me, and your encouragement is boundless, adding so much zeal and life to this, for, truly, you all make it come alive. Please keep up the great work, and continue to review when you have a moment, so that we can spice this up to its best merit =) =)**_

_**On to the actual story now . . . please remember that this is slightly AU- well, I suppose I should say it is very AU in the events. Alright- I'll stop talking, so sorry ;)**_

_**Enjoy ~**_

_**{Disclaimer: All rights belong to JKR, our queen generator of thought =) }**_

_**Chapter 15-**_

_**A Tricky Situation ~**_

* * *

"It's really weak, Harry." He started as the white, fancy, tea delicacy was pulled out of his hand, then to be placed close to the kettle once more, which generation made him balk. While he watched Hermione re-make the nuisance, only too glad to be letting her take over the necessities of caring for Serendipity, the door creaked open, followed by a tuft of carroty mess that made Harry grin.

"Smells good, 'Mione," said Ron, as he gallivanted into the room with his creative nose moving in a tandem while it trailed after all of the different scents-

"Ron, don't touch those! They are for the professor!" Hermione nearly tripped as she hurried towards him, while Harry chuckled, reaching towards the cup that she had taken from him mischievously.

"Harry!" she cried out, and it seemed as though she would need a special spell in order to keep her eyes trained on the both of them while they continued to act with the naughtiness that would have made Professor Snape, a.k.a. Serendipity, curse them to- well, probably not their deaths, because then they wouldn't be able to serve detention. When the three of them heard a low growl that was being issued from the floor's center, they all paused in their actions immediately however, looking slowly down, their hearts pumping with dread-

Severus Snape, a.k.a. Serendipity, had entered into their midst during some part of their discussion, and he now had fastened his yellow eyes upon them all with a deceptively serene look that danced about within these lighted spectacles oddly.

Simultaneously, Hermione let out a long, deep breath that sounded almost like a sigh, Ron accidentally dropped the piece of bacon that he had caught ahold of as his jaw dropped, and Harry, who had been making hasty plans to provide Snape with a weaker cup of tea than was completely necessary, automatically dropped back into line with the kettle carefully. And then, as though working through a trance, they all re-invented and re-executed. Hermione took her station at the stove, shooting Harry and Ron 'I-told-you-so,' and they attempted to ignore the gesture as they quietly went about their chores. Ron yawned widely, but quickly stifled it at a glowering glance. Harry merely attempted to ignore Snape, as he had poor Hermione- which, on second thought, he now felt rather bad about, but nevermind about that . . .

"Professor, your breakfast is nearly ready," Hermione said finally, in a falsely cheery voice. Harry smiled at Serendipity tentatively.

"She made bacon and eggs for you, Professor. I told her that you like tea as well. We made it strong, Serendipity." At this the scrawny cat hissed furiously at him, spitting as its tail flicked back and forth languorously, and for a minute he looked like a demon cat from another world that wished nothing but the greatest ill upon him, fireworks of black and lighting up his eyes. This needed to stop, for Harry had the most difficult time watching him when his tail moved in this manner, not quite able to interpret the way he infused elegance with apparent evil. He turned around to face Hermione, who was looking a bit frazzled. As she swiped a tendril of flyaway, sweaty hair away from her forehead, Harry found himself feeling slightly sorry for her.

"Here, let me help with that," he said, reaching towards the kettle while she placed the eggs and bacon upon a plate.

"Oh, thank you Harry," she said, stepping back to allow room for him, giving him a light smile.

"Where did you get these ingredients, 'Mione?" Ron asked her as he walked towards the table with his hands shoved deep into his pockets, whistling nonchalantly, curiously looking up at the ceiling.

"Oh, didn't I tell you?" she asked, rather cheerfully Harry thought. "Professor Dumbledore left these for us as well. I kept a cooling charm over them in order to make certain that they were preserved. If you had found them, Ron, before it was absolutely necessary to eat them, I don't know what I would have done- anyway, I put them in store for us as an aside," she said a bit vaguely, boggling Harry's comprehension abilities. Immediately he looked up at her with a miffed puzzlement, needing to know what she had been hiding from the two of them.

"Hermione . . . " he said hastily, a gentle, warning ringing through his words, "what is it that you're keeping from us?" His eyes fell sidelong for an instant while he glanced at Snape, who eyed each of them with an ominous glitter. Hermione as well glanced at him for a moment and Harry realized that he probably shouldn't have said anything about it. She shook her head at him infinitesimally.

"Sorry," he muttered underneath his breath. She bit her lip, as though having an afterthought about the matter.

"Professor Snape needs to be aware of all of the details Harry, and, well, I trust him." Then she bent down in front of the small but ferociously intimidating creature, until she was eye level with him.

"Sir," she began. Snape was completely still, his thinly veiled black gleaming eyes fixed upon her as though they were boring into Hermione's very being. "I want you to know that I do trust you," she started, and although she sounded slightly shaky at first, her eyes never left his little furry, whisker-clad face- her lips quirked upward a bit at the edges, until they finally filled out into a full smile that she apparently tried to mask.

"I'm really sorry Professor," she said then, a small, hastily crafted shield battling to do its job to hide her laughter, a low chuckle sadly escaping, "I don't mean to laugh, but you are adorable in that form, truly." Harry stared at her with astonishment for a moment, and then he abruptly closed his mouth. Ron shot him a wondering look, but then he just shrugged, because perhaps it really did not constitute anything strange . . . after all, Professor Snape _was_ a cat at this minute, rather than a black-clad man in his typical garb of bat-like creation, and ruinous deadly gestures and trademarks.

"Harry," Ron muttered, as he felt a nudge in his right side. "What is she doing?" Harry found himself mesmerized by the interaction between them, although he didn't know exactly why this was the case. The cat began to shift away from the table, sidling next to Hermione's side, before merely sitting down upon his haunches. Harry and Ron watched him in fascination. No more than a few seconds had passed before he spun back around rapidly and offered her his tail, but Hermione simply frowned at him, reaching a hand towards his back end, patting him on his back softly. Almost instantaneously, Snape's rear-end flew into the air, causing Ron to let loose a low chuckle, at which point Harry elbowed him in the ribs, and he quieted.

Hermione reached forward yet again, continuing to pat the cat on the rump. Harry's grip was now so wide that he couldn't possibly hide it, so he merely let his eyes lift up at the scene while the merriment continued. Ron however had enough of abstaining from the ability to portray his own feelings about the interesting display, and he laughed. The cat turned back around so fast that no one had the opportunity to do anything as, without an eye's swift blink, he lunged towards Ron's leg, near his left ankle. While he latched onto the torn, already downtrodden pair of blue-jeans, Hermione ran forwards and caught him, just as he was about to, it seemed, take a bite out of Ron Weasely-

She gracefully swept up a bundle of Professor Snape into her arms, glaring at the two of them reproachfully.

"How dare you mock him! You two should be utterly ashamed of yourselves," she cried in a scalding tone, and Harry's eyes locked simultaneously upon Serendipity's glittering black orbs that had become so decidedly much more unnerving- when he had donned a cat's grace, and mannerisms. In exactly what way this was he really didn't understand. He looked up then at Hermione, his confusion apparent upon his face.

"What do you mean?" he asked her. "We aren't treating him unfairly."

"Yeah," said Ron, nodding his head in agreement with him, "Harry even named the furry little e- "

"Ron!" Harry shoved him again in the ribs, harder this time, causing him to yelp and to jump away from him, rubbing his side gently. Hermione was patting Snape's back comfortingly however, as she continued to stare at them with the look of a scandalized black bear whose cubs had been badly abused by them. Snape, apparently repulsed by her attempts to console him, fought against her, yet the viciousness lessened while she clutched him due to her strength, Harry imagined.

"This is uncalled for. After all Harry, he's not your professor anymore . . . he's just an innocent cat." She looked down at Snape fondly, scratching his ears and appearing as if she couldn't hear the hissing that was spewing out of Snape's mouth. "And at any rate, can you honestly say in good conscience that he isn't truly adorable?" Harry simply could not believe it. The small volatile demon was now settling into Hermione's embrace, shooting both of them murderous gazes that promised them a death from which he would glean pure, shining, unadulterated enjoyment.

"I thought that it would suite him if I provided a name for him," Harry threw out artlessly, while Ron muffled another chortle beside him. "I thought it would be cute." Hermione huffed at them while pierced both Harry and Ron with eyes that resembled hot scythes, causing Ron to step back a bit. Absentmindedly, Harry caught onto his elbow as their friend stamped into the living room while holding fast to their professor. He made eye contact with Ron, and when they mutually agreed to follow her, made towards the door also. He felt as though he were someplace between dreaming and being fully awake, although he could not essentially understand why it was becoming so hard to distinguish reality from that which wasn't real. As they sat down in their respective chairs across from Hermione, Serendipity left the death-grip that had threatened to choke his circulation in order to meander close to the fire, his tail flicking in a back and forth semblance that was designed, Harry was certain, to mock them in an eerie depiction which meant a shadowy death . . . death was everything that was descriptive about this animal.

"Now everyone er . . . get comfortable, so that I can explain everything. Professor Snape, you just relax beside the fire for as long as it pleases you to. Ron, why don't you go get the professor's breakfast for him?" she asked in a tone that was suspiciously honeyingly sweet and loving. Shaking his head in a confused way, Ron went into the kitchen once again, but he was no longer grumbling, for his eyes had lighted somewhat at the sound of the term 'breakfast.' Harry turned his attention back to Hermione and cat-Snape with interest, however, wondering what she was planning to reveal with curiosity that almost burned. She blew a puff of breath into the straggling curls hanging with tantalizing motions into her face, her eyes still fastened upon Serendipity, a.k.a., Snape.

"We need to figure out hat we're going to call you," she mused, ignoring the disgruntled look, that Harry was plaguing her with relentlessly. "No, Harry," she sighed, "I don't think he likes that name," she said pointedly. Harry feigned indifference, staring at the wall behind his chair.

"Now," she said, placing her hands into her lap. "There are a few things that we need to discuss. I am glad you are with us Professor, because this is an extremely difficult situation for everyone, but we are doing fairly well." She coughed slightly into her sleeve, while the cat continued to flick his tail at her, looking quite possibly more bored by her speech than he would have if he were watching Harry play Quidditch. Her cheeks were now a nice, healthy shade of puce.

"Well anyhow, I just wanted to tell you that we are all growing our own vegetables and fruit obviously, since those were the easiest staples. But of course . . . this does not completely suffice, now, does it?" She was looking down at her fingers contemplatively. And Harry's ears perked up slightly.

"What do you mean?" he asked her. Hermione's face was now glowing, but he had an idea that this was not inasmuch due to her embarrassment from talking with Snape than it was due to something else completely.

"Well Harry, I am referring to the mal that we had this morning actually." Ron entered quietly behind Harry's chair, supporting two plates laden down by enormous piles of eggs and bacon, looking a bit happier.

"Honestly Ron," she murmured, "set them down." He did so, crossing his legs in a spider fashion at the center of the room, midway between cat-Snape and Hermione.

"I wanted you all to know that I have technically enchanted not only the vegetable patches outside, but that we have another source of food as well. I know I shouldn't have, but- " she bit her lip, and then directed her gaze at Snape imploringly.

"Sir . . . Professor Dumbledore made it perfectly clear that we were supposed to do all of this ourselves, and he _did_ give me permission to explore all magical means that were possible while attempting to fulfill all of our- basic needs and base, but necessary lusts that makes all of us human." At this statement, Hermione turned even redder, and Harry wanted to hug her purely out of admiration for that particular statement.

"Those were Professor Dumbledore's words." He smiled. Ron was grinning from his comfortable self-made nest also. From his peripheral vision, he thought that he spotted Snape move towards them, but the cat did nothing more than watch them all warily, even though, when Harry caught him doing it, Snape turned his rump towards him.

"Disgusting habit that is," Ron muttered. Snape hissed at him again.

"Come here, Professor," Hermione tried beckoning to Snape, but the cat merely yawned widely in response to her. "Ah well. That's alright I suppose . . . but, in truth, I really couldn't do anything else save for placing around us magical spells of every variety that I could possibly think of, which will bring us different types of food periodically, throughout the day," she said, sidling close to Snape so that she could scratch him behind the ears softly. "Essentially this means that, while we will be able to grow our own sustenance, we can only receive the different items during the moments when we need them the most."

"What are you talking about Hermione? What kind of spells did you use?" Harry asked her quickly.

"They're quite simple really," she answered. "Actually, most of them we learned during charms last years, but the spells that Professor Flitwick taught us were a bit elementary, so I needed to tweak them slightly for our purposes," she explained hastily. Harry thought for a minute, but he couldn't remember any charms that correlated with this type of a situation- not that there were many like this, of course. She proceeded to tell them about the spells, including the details of how they had been altered to suit their purpose. They turned out to be growing charms that Harry recognized, but were altered through complex methods that were difficult for him to understand. Hermione seemed as though she were more pleased with herself than usual after accomplishing something that was way beyond her level. But then she turned towards Snape again, reaching at the same moment for the scrambled eggs and bacon she'd cooked for them.

"Like I said," she murmured, "I trust Professor Snape with any information that must be shared. After all, he's in this the same as we are, and I think that, from now on, none of us should keep any secrets from one another," she declared with a thinly veiled, flustered air, and more confidence than she seemed to feel. So that he didn't have to listen to her tirade, however, Harry immediately nodded his assent, but he noticed that Ron was watching Snape now out of narrowed eyelids.

"I'm not sure that I trust him, Hermione. After all, that thing just tried to take my leg off me."

"Oh, Ronald," she answered, huffing. "Professor Snape was just frightened. Come here, little one," she then stated in an infinitely gentle voice, but it appeared that Snape enjoyed being called 'little one,' about as much as he liked being called Serendipity by Harry, and the hitherto quiet cat began hissing once again, showering Ron and Hermione both with flecks of spittle that he sent flying, the latter because she had crawled up to him with bacon and eggs held high in one of her hands.

"That's another thing," said Ron accusatorily, pointing a finger at the cat's ready, hot breakfast, "why are you giving him our meals? I mean, if food is scarce around here, it seems as if we should have it. After all, he's a cat, so shouldn't he be eating cat food?" Harry felt like he had to agree with this statement, and he looked at Hermione questioningly.

"He's got a point. Why _aren't_ you giving the professor cat food?"

"Well . . . " she lowered her head a little, setting down the plate.

"What?"

She gestured towards the still-steaming plate in front of her. "This- this is cat food. I just charmed it so that it would look more appetizing."

"Hermione," Harry groaned, having a clear picture in his head of what he thought would happen next. Sure enough, upon hearing these words coming from her, Snape turned his back on all of them once again, and promptly walked with as much dignity as a cat could possibly demonstrate towards the kitchen door. Hermione hastened to open it for him, looking so disappointed, that Harry couldn't help feeling sorry for her.

"Look," he said, in a tone that he honestly tried to make somewhat gentle, while she closed the door, "I know that you're only trying to please the professor, and I appreciate all the work that you've done. But- truly, I think that the entire point of this whole arrangement is to form some kind of a bond with Snape, through this- this spell or whatever, because it will give us an advantage over Voldemort in some way." Ron shivered while he was talking.

"Don't say his name," he admonished him. Harry only looked at him, slightly annoyed. Hermione was worrying her hands, and she was definitely flustered by now.

"What do you think I was trying to do Harry?" she asked him. "Honestly, forgive me if I simply didn't think that Professor Snape would enjoy eating cat food- " Harry shook his head quickly.

"That isn't the point. And why would you assume that calling him 'little one' is any better than Serendipity? I mean I know that- " he started helplessly as Hermione's eyes began filling up with tears. She reached for the door handle and made to follow Snape, while Harry tried desperately to make up for his error, now feeling truly like the worst person imaginable.

"I know that you meant well," he said hastily, feeling like a blithering idiot. He never got to finish his thought, for she had already left the room, her face hidden by that thick, bushy mask.

"Bonkers," Ron muttered, shaking his head, as Harry sighed. "The way she's taken to Snape in his cat form, you'd think he was her own personal familiar or something." He reached his hand towards the second plate that was filled with an overwhelming pile of Snape's own breakfast, removing a piece of bacon from it tentatively. When he put the lab up to his mouth however and tasted it, an enormous smile lit his face up, and then he continued to munch on the rest of the delicacy contentedly. Harry simply stared at his ministrations. He found that he didn't feel much like eating at the current moment.

"Come on mate," Ron chastised him. "It's delicious. 'Mione will come around. She always does in the end." Sighing, and hoping that he was correct in his assumption, Harry sat down to eat beside him.

* * *

It had not taken any longer than about an hour for Harry to grow rather anxious. He pulled himself from his plush armchair, which was nearly thick enough to swallow him up to his torso, and told Ron that he would return in a few minutes.

"Alright, Harry. Do you want me to go with you?" Harry shook his head. He threw a glance at the remainder of their breakfast, which consisted of only a lone piece of bacon and a sad, untouched scrambled egg that had been flipped into more of what appeared to be a thin, white-colored waffle that had somehow gone badly wrong, and then decided, on a whim that, perhaps Snape would still be able to make use of these oddities. He left Ron to doze off into whatever slumber had taken him, even though he could only see his orange head peeking out from the red, and quietly went outside. He had a hunch, for some reason, that he might find Hermione out there with her new friend- and unsurprisingly, he was not disappointed. From the front of the small cottage nothing save for the thicket of white flowers was prominent, which at his initial entrance he'd overlooked, but which now brought to his mind a poignant image of Professor Dumbledore popping that most bizarrely, exotic sweet into his mouth- Harry quickly shook his head. To the right, an avidly chipper voice meandered through his ears, and it was this which he followed towards the side of the cottage where the bright sunlight was not quite so insatiable from this navigational point. They were sitting together beneath the overhand which barely reached the edge of the flowerbed in its length.

"Hermione?" he questioned. She glanced up. Snape had been sitting against the wall and had seemed to be sleeping, but at the sound of Harry's voice he cocked one eye open, and glared- then he promptly closed it again. Harry stifled a chuckle.

"How'd you get him to do that?" he asked, gesturing towards the cat as he sat down beside her.

"Well, I had to struggle with him for a few minutes," she answered, sounding slightly miffed, although for the life of Harry, he couldn't understand why she should be so.

"You've done really good job with him," he told her, a little awkwardly, "I've never been able to communicate with him much at all when he was like this, especially since he tends to like me even less when he's an animal, and, well, that's saying something, I guess." She reached out and placed a hand upon the cat's hip for a minute, and to Harry's surprise, Snape didn't move.

"He's really quite gentle," she told him. "You just need to know how to treat him," she added, with some amount of pique in her voice.

"Hermione . . . " he watched Snape somewhat confusedly, "why are you out here- with him I mean?" He decided that he should be blunt in his questioning. "If you're going to spend time with Serendipity, you would be just as comfortable in the living area before the fire that you started," he pressed. When she either pretended not to hear his query or delicately refrained from answering him, he sat down in front of her, folding his hands across his lap, feeling uncomfortable. She continued to avoid his gaze, preferring to stare down at her own, overly long, blue t-shirt, which he assumed, for all that it was in much better shape than any of Dudley's hand-mi-downs, had originally been utilized for- gardening he imagined.

"I'm sorry about earlier." Now she was fiddling with the front of her shirt, near its hem, at the bottom. "Really, I- " he paused. And then just as quickly as he started trying to explain himself, she threw herself around his neck, gripping him so hard that he thought he might choke from the inability to breathe.

"Oh Harry!" she cried, and he was appalled by the notion that he had turned on the waterworks in her system, this time without even trying, "I'm sorry," she sniffled into his neck, "It's nothing that you've done. It's just- " she pulled away from him, hastily rubbing her now wet face upon the sleeve of her own shirt. "I don't know why I'm acting like this. I guess it must be from all of the tension, especially after what happened last year." Harry looked at her quizzically.

"If you're referring to the stone that Professor Quirrel was attempting to steal," he started slightly defensively. But she quickly shook her head.

"It's got nothing to do with that."

"Then what is it?" he asked, completely baffled by this demonstration. He couldn't fathom why she was acting so abnormally, since she was typically so level-headed that they sometimes, he nearly thought, needed to force her into anything that was diverting.

"It's- it's a bit hard to understand."

"Try me," Harry said, trying to keep the slight impatience from creeping into his voice.

"Well . . . when we were in the kitchen the other day, and became distracted by, you know, Hedwig's return, I wasn't able to iterate what I wanted to." She took a deep breath, chewing on her lower lip in the process, before continuing. "Well, you see, near the end of last year I attempted to clean up the girl's dormitories a bit." Harry's eyes now widened. She was wringing her hands painfully. "I put an organization charm on all of the furniture in my dorm so that . . . everyone would be able to put their items away in alphabetical order without needing to make any special effort, and- oh Harry, it was awful." She shook her head sadly. "I really had no idea, but- well one of the girls who apparently didn't like the idea refused to try, and the furniture rebelled against all of us. I suppose the charm is similar to the blood-wards that protect you," she surmised, looking into the distance for a minute.

"Meaning what, exactly?" he asked her.

"Basically it means that magic is sentient, Harry. It rebels against the caster. So . . . when Lavielda refused to obey the wishes of her own bureau, all of the clothes spun out of it and chased after me, but I- I couldn't get out of the room fast enough, and the spell did its work."

"The spell did its work?" He was slightly dreading her answer. She sniffed.

"Yes- look." And here she lifted the hem of her long t-shirt, only to display an extremely out-of-lace, frilly, white lace halter top, that looked as though it was an uncomfortably tight fit. She lowered her shirt down sadly.

"I've tried everything," she told him, "everything that I could think of, but nothing seems to work, and I've had to wear it all summer. It makes me get cold, easily. That's why I've had the fire going." The thought was rather horrifying. Harry couldn't imagine what it would be like to have to deal with wearing clothes that were always too tight- it was bad enough that his were always too big for him.

"The only option is to ask one of the Hogwarts professors, but I just haven't been able to force myself to do it." Harry was silent. He could see why she didn't wish to speak with any of the professionals about the problem, but . . . and then, the obvious came to him.

"Snape," he said abruptly.

"What?" she asked him.

"Snape," he said again, quickly. She shook her head.

"I don't want Professor Snape to see it." He gestured toward her right, telling her candidly,

"He's already seen it." Sure enough, the black cat was now fully awake, his black, coal-colored eyes gleaming strangely at them . . .

* * *

_**A/N- The new profile pic is of my cat Jasper, by the way =) He likes pumpkins- or rather, likes to play . . . in them =/**_


	16. That Shadow

_**A special thank you to hazeldragon ~ * ~**_

**Author's Note:**

**Because this story is slightly AU, please remember that I will continue to revise and edit the Harry Potter setting to my desires. In this chapter, for instance, I have tweaked a couple of things- Lucius Malfoy has a brother named Abraxus. According to my research, his real father's name was 'Abraxas,' with an 'a,' so I simply changed the ending to suit a brother that I think is fitting for him. Harry and his friends also have knowledge of the branches of magic known as Occlumency, and Legilimency, as early as second year- in this, present time. Also a reference to tea-cozies . . . **

**{Disclaimer: The original plot of course belongs to Rowling!}**

**Enjoy! Be sure to send me some love if you get around to it =)**

_**SM-**_

**Chapter 16-**

_**That Shadow ~**_

* * *

Harry sat outside with Hermione for the remainder of the day, simply enjoying the warm sunlight falling over the lawn, and cat-Snape seemed to cotton to it just as much as they did, although he was sure that Snape would never admit to that- nevertheless he spent the entire day sleeping in a patch of grass that was removed from the shadow of the house seeming to be distinctly even, in some way, humorously content- perhaps Harry really shouldn't have such thoughts. After all, poor Snape was a cat. That however- that- that might come in handy for them. Yeah . . .

"Harry!" Hermione poked him in the ribs, waking him from the partial slumber that might have cost him something had it continued. Harry rubbed his eyes, and then yawned while he stretched out his arms. He'd never experienced this type of pleasure when he was at the Dursley's because they tended to dislike any time that he spent _outside _unless he had Aunt Petunia's weed-whacker in one of his hands.

"Harry," she said again, this time more loudly.

"I'm listening, Hermione," he grumbled.

"Good," she said promptly.

"Although I was enjoying the sunlight," he couldn't help but to add before she continued, "see, I don't get to enjoy it that much when I'm at the Dursley's, because they always want me to-"

"Harry," she said again, stopping him hurriedly. "Stop doing that."

"Doing what?" he mumbled.

"You know what I mean," she said, annoyed. He refrained from saying something that might be considered incriminating- which might cause Hermione to turn dangerous, might make him help her with tea-cozies for various House-Elves, like Dobby.

"I've been thinking about what you said earlier, concerning Professor Snape and, um . . . my problem." She gestured at her t-shirt. "And I think that you have a fair point," she mused, while her voice turned abruptly pensive. "I'm going to ask him about it when . . . he's no longer indisposed." And here she cast a glance at the sleeping animal.

"Yeah, I agree," said Harry. "He seems to be enjoying himself a bit too much at the moment." She clucked her tongue sympathetically.

"Poor thing. It must be really awful to be stuck in that form, unable to do anything about it. How would you like it, Harry, if Professor Dumbledore made you do that? I suppose that, he's been using the litter-box outside, hasn't he?" she asked while she sidled up to Snape once again, cautiously now, her movements silent. He scratched his head as he watched her.

"Well, yeah . . . I mean it isn't as though I came to Snape's house prepared to care for him like this. I wasn't prepared at all . . . " he said to himself as an aside. The arrival of the potions professor had been somewhat of a shock . . . he would have thought that would have been obvious. Harry scratched his head.

"I know, Harry," she said. "But you did tell me yourself that when you were caring for Snape as a cat that he wouldn't eat for you or- Harry!" she almost cried out then, "he_ was _drinking water, wasn't he?"

"Erm- I'm not sure," he mumbled, slightly ashamed of himself at her words. He turned away from the two of them.

"Oh, Harry- look- I think he's waking up," she quickly said, and so he spun back toward them, apprehensive. Cat-Snape yawned, his fail flicking back and forth, in a seeming inadvertent gesture, as though it were throwing a mere fly off of it- then he opened his black orbs lazily. His ears twitched while his little, black-button face swiveled for a moment, as he was still trying to orient himself.

"I'm going to get him some food and water," she said, moving into a stand. Harry was left alone with cat-Snape, a.k.a. Serendipity. Snape soon became aware of this fact- his thin-lipped snarl alerted him to the feline's current pleasure. A.k.a. Serendipity.

"Professor?" he tried hesitantly. "I know that you really aren't that fond of me, and that's, yeah, probably putting it mildly, I know." The cat's eyes gleamed, as though in affirmation of that statement. He almost rolled his eyes, but stopped just short of doing it. "Anyhow, I just wanted to let you know that I _am_ trying to care for you properly. Um . . . Hermione's a lot better at this than I am," he grumbled. "You just didn't have any of the necessary items at your house," he told the cat, even as Serendipity began to growl, deep and low, a regurgitation of food. It sounded a bit like vomiting.

Harry was slightly annoyed, and at this point he thought he might as well let the matter go. A few minutes later Hermione returned to them, bearing two ceramic white bowls that smelled quite strongly, but he had no inkling as to what was inside them based upon this. However cat-Snape must have liked whatever it was, for his head was now perked. While she placed them upon the grass the furry, atypical black mass of Professor Snape who had once been a notorious and loathed potions master came up to them slowly, sniffing. Harry heard another sniffle, and when he turned around, he saw Hermione dabbing at her own nose with her t-shirt's sleeve.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"Nothing's wrong- it's just that the nature of that stuff tends to tickle my nasal passage. Perhaps I have allergies to it . . . " Harry felt a chill go down his spine. Quickly he looked down at Professor Snape- he tried to get a better purview of what was in the two ceramic bowls, but, as he tried to scope them out, Hermione tugged him aside, hissing into his ear,

"Don't talk about what he's eating. He- he really likes the food, Harry- "

"But that's just it," he told her, his whispering voice carrying a bit, "he's not going to like it if he knows what it is, Hermione." He struggled to free himself from her grip on his arm.

"But- Harry- wait- Professor Snape doesn't know that," she whispered back, her voice fervent. He stopped shrugging now, staring at her questioningly. "Let's wait a little while," she added, sounding imploring. Harry sighed through his teeth like a low whistle. Snape, for his own part, continued to sniff the contents, and then, promptly began to devour whatever they were- as though he hadn't had a decent meal in days. Hermione smiled warmly at Serendipity, as if he was a treasured parcel that had miraculously appeared in her own customized mailbox. Harry simply looked on at them both with the air of one who had missed a link somehow and did not know how to find it- charming.

"That is so cute," she gushed. Because he didn't truly know whether that was a fair assessment, Harry shook his head, not comprehending much about anything at this moment. He decided to go inside and find Ron.

"I'll be back," he muttered. He sought the front of the cottage, only to stop short as he turned the corner, for there sat Ron, looking out at the wide expanse of grassy lawn before him.

"Ron?" he questioned. The red-head glanced around, a look upon his face that seemed strangely detached. Harry sat down beside him.

"You okay there, mate?" He noticed from the corner of his eye that Ron was pulling at his sleeve, which was decidedly careworn in its texture.

"Yeah . . . fine, Harry. You know," he told him, while examining his sleeve carefully, "this is probably the only time in my life that I don't own more than three pairs of shirts that are over three years old. It's a bit of a strange feeling." Harry leaned back upon his elbows, sprawling comfortably across the circular stone steps in front of the door.

"I know. It's a good feeling though, isn't it?" he asked him. Ron simply shrugged. "It's the best feeling in the world. Now I won't have to hide my sleeves underneath my robes so carefully," he chuckled underneath his breath. Harry knew exactly how his friend felt. After all, having grown up with the Dursleys, he never lived through a day in which he didn't put on an outfit that was ten times too large for his frame, courtesy of his cousin Dudley, who was forever to be the size of a-

"My cousin, you know he's- an oversized stuffed whale, with its belly stretched via overload." Harry glanced down at his own shirt a bit wryly. It looked as if he'd taken a beating, because Dudley and his friends were in fact bulling a kid at the playground that day, most probably. Yes well . . . I can't describe him," Harry said. He had in all likelihood overdone that description anyway. Ron stared at him with a dumbfounded expression.

"My cousin- he's-an absolute whale, I meant. An overstuffed one that bullies all of my clothing." He gestured down at his own shirt . . . "along with a lot of other things, and people," he muttered. Ron grinned. Harry pointed down to his own shirt. "See? I think that this is the product of a fall-out that he had with some kid at the playground." Ron shook his orange tufts of red hair- then he burst into raucous laughter.

"I never knew you could be so descriptive, Harry!" he cried out. "An overstuffed whale? Is he one of your toys?"

"Of course not." Harry frowned down at his shirt once more, and then, he grinned wryly. He could see Ron's point. He shrugged, glancing into space for a minute, vacantly.

"I think that it was something I heard on one of Dudley's T.V. shows."

"The T.V.? That telly thing that Dad keeps harping on about?" he asked. Harry grinned fondly at Mr. Weasely's own customized, patented rendition of what a television was.

"Yeah . . . that's what I meant, alright." Ron wiped a couple of wayward tears away from his face that had escaped, and were now trickling down over his red freckles.

"Ah, well," he said, still chuckling, "you should get together with Fred and George . . . they'd love you. They would create everything while you came up with all of the labels. I should mention it to them, Harry."

"I suppose so," he answered, with another small smile. At any rate, he did notice that Ron's thoughts were no longer on his own apparel, so his inadvertent fall into strange meanings and creative language must have helped. Perhaps he should stop listening in to Dudley's T.V. shows when he got tired of all of the work that the Dursleys gave to him, although admittedly, eh didn't have a clue as to how that had occurred- must have been when Aunt Petunia was gone long enough to for him to sit down upon a shadowed step somewhere. Dudley would never have allowed it.

"Hey, where have Snape and Hermione gone off to?" he asked Harry.

"They've been enjoying the sun for a bit at the other side of the house," he answered, his voice a bit dry. "I watched them play for a little while. Hermione is completely enchanted with him." Harry shook his head. "Don't ask me why." At that precise moment their conversation was interrupted by the subject, one with a mass of bouncing, bushy hair carrying in her arms a load of fuzz-ball professor. At the sight of them sitting upon the step she stopped short, and smiled brightly at the two of them.

"Oh, hello, you two. Harry!" she exclaimed, her smile stretching- across her whole face, as though the sun had lit her with an inner glow, "I got the professor to eat all of his food. He drank his water, too, didn't you, you sweet little thing?" Cat-Snape hissed at her, turning his malicious coals upon her, his mouth bared just slightly in order to display a row of sharp teeth.

"Well, we need to work on a few things as far as his behavior. He's not exactly pleased with his current arrangements, but then, I probably wouldn't be either if I was the professor . . . come on, Serendipity." Pulling more tightly, Hermione took the potions master a.k.a. cat with her inside, the flapping tail flicking back and forth over her shoulder in what Harry could discern somehow to be a manner that looked as though it was calculated; the door closed behind them with a quiet thud. He looked around at Ron, shrugging yet again.

"See? That's what I mean when I say that she's taken with him."

"Well," he said slowly, still looking at the closed door, "Hermione always was a bit mad. Not so out of ordinary, I guess . . . come on, let's go and see if there's anything we should be doing. What if she gets Snape on her side?" He gave an involuntary shudder at this, as though the very thought terrified him, "honestly, she's nearly as bad as my mum about taking proper care of things. And can you imagine what Snape will do to us once he's back in his professor form, Harry?"

"Yes," he replied, "I've been trying not to think about it that much."

"So- you said that he turned into a cat once through, right, when you were staying with him? What happened then? You know, I mean, after he had become his old greasy self. Were you punished?" Harry reached for the door handle.

"No," he said in return, "but that's probably due to the fact that we were forced to leave because of an intruder of some- um- category . . . " he trailed off into the distance. It was undoubtedly true it was certain, that this stranger had not been a friendly neighbor . . . but then, Harry did not really feel as though this fact merited any attention that he didn't want to glean. The shadow that he'd seen had- it wasn't a shadow, he reminded himself, but a physical form swathed in black- not been much to speak of. He hadn't seen the person's face, after all, even though, he still couldn't help feeling as though something that he couldn't name was plaguing him . . .

The door creaked open almost entirely on its own, causing Harry to start in surprise. Ron stepped through, and he followed after, trying to decipher the door jamb, as if the answer to his question would appear in magically charmed, gold script- it wasn't to be of course, and Ron did not appear to notice anything beyond the ordinary. A chill traveled down his spine. An odd forbearance overtook him that trickled through Hurry's entire system. At that exact instant, in a weirdly harmonious interaction, Ron asked him,

"Hey, when did you say that Snape turned back into a wizard the last time he transfigured? Was it directly after you saw that person?"

"Er- yeah," he answered him. "Yeah, it was . . . " The black cat was now resting beside Hermione close to the fire, which had been stoked to full flame once again. They sat down in opposing chairs, Ron sinking down into his again to the point at which his torso sprouted out like a flower-stalk, the rest of him buried into the deep, plush green cushions.

"I think he's fallen asleep. I didn't realize that cats slept this much, but then again, I do remember reading something about the frequency of their sleep cycle . . . poor guy, he looks so exhausted," she said, while clucking her tongue sympathetically at him. Ron pulled a disgusted look at the pair of them, while Harry placed his hands over his knees and rubbed his jeans unconsciously.

"Something the matter Harry?" Ron asked him. He shook his head slowly. Something strange was going on.

"No . . . well, I was- " he swallowed, "just wondering whether you saw- well, no, forget it. Never mind."

"What is it, Harry?" Ron probed him.

"You- Hermione did you see that?" This took her attention away from Snape momentarily. "See what, Harry?" Ron's eyebrows were raised into two distinct arches over his eyes. He took a deep breath.

"I thought that the door opened on its own accord- but maybe I was just imagining it." Ron smiled.

"Well, course you were." Harry swallowed. Hermione continued to stroke cat-Snape absently- he noticed that his eyes were open. Serendipity's orbs were glowing before the red-hot flames, like two removed pieces of coal. Harry thought of something, a tiresome something that crept slowly into his brain and took a miraculous stronghold upon it-

"I can't believe I didn't realize this before," he muttered . . . "Hermione . . . earlier, why did you call Snape Serendipity?" She blushed furiously, to the very roots of her hair.

"I- I didn't."

"Yes, you did." Harry and Ron were both looking at her. She then shook her head.

"I honestly don't know- " There was a moment of suspended silence, in which the air was filled with something unimaginable, and yet, excruciatingly terrifying. Harry turned around as every bone, muscle and fiber in all of their bodies tightened, even if that was in no way physically possible.

"Har-ry," Ron whispered, just as the black feline Snape transformation growled low in his throat. There were two raps upon the door. The room suddenly darkened, as the fire was extinguished, although Harry did not have an inkling as to how that could have happened, save for that their visitor on the doorstep had, of course, done it . . . but he did not want to think about this fact.

"Professor," Hermione whispered urgently, "what should we do?" Harry waited. Did Snape just expect them to take care of it, or was he going to take charge? He found himself desperately hoping that this strange magic between him and the potions master would allow Snape to now turn back into a human- _please,_ he hoped desperately,_ please,- not now_. But they were running quickly out of time, and Harry thought that he could hear footsteps thudding across the floor softly. Snape was softly growling, but he could barely hear it- he moved in front of Ron, whispering frantically to Hermione.

"Come on. Get behind me."

"What about Sn- the cat?" She caught herself just in time. Harry's heart was pumping wildly in his chest so rapidly that he thought it was going to burst out. However, he forced himself to say in a cool tone, relatively calmly,

"He's fine. Come over here." He knew that their visitor was listening. She shuffled closer to them. He could hear every breath each of them took in addition to the light issuing coming from Serendipity, a.k.a., Professor Severus Snape. He could only hope that the potions master's brain was still fully functioning, and that he would not at any point be overwhelmed by his cat instincts, which may cause him to do something rash. Then the room was again lighted, and, first the furniture, came back into view- and then something else. Someone.

"Well, well, well . . . what have we here? A group of children, I see, tut-tut. Why, you shouldn't be here all alone." It sounded almost like a question. If Harry had been writing, he would have placed a question mark at the end of the statement-

"Harry, Potter." It was like a sibilant cry, in the night. And by the time the windows had already darkened indeed. "What are you doing here?" The form facing them was tall, probably a head taller than the mantle's clock, and bone-thin. He had a curious stature, though. Harry felt almost like he had seen it, but he knew that this could not be the case in truth- the figure had a prominent nose, and long, scraggly blond hair. Two thin, winding strands fell down across his thick black traveling cloak, but his face, was still obscured. The man had yet to remove his hood and show himself.

"W-who are you?" Ron asked, his voice quivering. The man gave a low chuckle. He was twirling his wand casually between his thumb and his middle finger in the surrounding air.

"I am sure that you do not know me, young Mr. Weasely, and yet I am intimately familiar with your family."

"Why is that?" Ron asked him, his voice sounding hoarse.

"My brother has often spoke of you, because you are a good friend of Harry Potter." He lowered his hood. Harry gasped. He looked just like-

"Mr. Malfoy!" Hermione blurted. He seemed pleased by her admission.

"Yes, indeed," he said in a sibilant hiss to them. "Though not the Malfoy that you are familiar with, I am certain."

"You look just like . . . " Harry muttered. The man gave a quick laugh. "Lucius, I know. We are brothers, after all, though we have often been deemed to be fraternal twins. Am I saying that correctly?" He gave another laugh, and this time it sounded more like a bark. Harry balled his hands into tight fists.

"What do you want with us?" he asked, his teeth gritted. Now he was flashing them all a thin, tight-lipped smile.

"Why, nothing so much, dear children. I just want to be made- comfortable."

"What do you mean by that?" Hermione asked him in a shrill tone.

"Nothing out of the usual." He crossed over to the coat rack hanging near to the door, in a corner that was behind a large bookcase. He began the process of removing his cloak and hanging it up there, muttering to himself, all the while. Harry watched this bizarre spectacle, horrified.

"Is he mad?" Ron whispered into his ear. He shook his head.

"I don't know."

"Maybe we should just please him" Hermione murmured in a low tone. Harry quickly looked at her.

"Why should we do that?" She shrugged.

"It just seems like the best option that we have at the moment. Abraxus Malfoy- that is his name, isn't it?- He's probably a real danger, if he's anything like the Malfoys that we know." Harry had to agree with her on this. So he nodded.

"Alright," he muttered back at her. He felt something nudge up against his leg, and he looked down to notice that Snape was trying to seek out his attention. Harry crouched down upon his knees so that he could look the cat in the eyes.

"What is it, Serendipity?" he whispered to it. Snape moved into a sitting formation, and was now perfectly still.

"What is- ?" Harry put a finger out to stall him. He locked his own green eyes upon Snape's swimming black gems- he felt as though he were looking into two strange, black holes, that would allow him to enter into an unearthly realm.

'He's trying to perform Occlumency, I think," said Hermione. Her voice was scarcely heard . . . Harry straightened. He shook his head, a bit disconcerted.

"No. More likely Legilimency," he lamented, "but- I never learned how to . . . " Ron chuckled.

"That's S-Serendipity for you," he said, catching himself in an instant as Harry elbowed him in the side, "even . . . like this, trying to get us to perform way beyond our level . . . " Harry sighed. The cat now looked as though it would gladly have bitten him. He began growling again. They heard another chuckle that wasn't coming from any of them.

"He doesn't seem to be a very nice one." Harry observed Abraxus Malfoy warily as he approached the cat.

"Come here little devil. What's your- " Snape lunged for the man's pale arm before it was even fully extended toward him. He gave a low huff.

"Well, I was just asking," he said. Snape continued to growl viciously at him. Harry's heart fell into his stomach for some reason- he didn't know why . . .


	17. Serendipity's Defense

**A special thank you to _hazeldragon_.**

**A/N: Please enjoy!**

**{Disclaimer: the originals are not my own}**

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**Chapter 17-**

**Serendipity's Defense ~**

Abraxus Malfoy leaned back into his armchair, his head tilted a bit towards the kitchen, his chin jutting high into the air. He seemed to be the perfectly poised picture of the way in which one among the Malfoy's circle would conduct oneself. Harry felt something stick up into his throat, but he knew that it had nothing to do with anything that he may or may not have eaten that day. In fact Harry was quite sure that food would not be a primary problem, at all-

"Is there anything to eat around here?" he asked, causing Harry, Ron, and Hermione to cast each other furtive glances. No one said anything. The tension in the room had now grown to an extent that was precariously uncomfortable. There was a moment of indecision. Were they going to allow him an unlimited access to all of the cabin's already almost pathetic stores? The fact was of course, that no one had anticipated anything past the actual issue at this point.

"No," Harry said, barely restraining the irritation that was threatening to leak out of his voice. When Malfoy's eyes then settled upon him, glinting in a way that was evilly unsettling, he quickly added,

"Just some fresh tea- " he half turned around. "Hermione?"

"Oh, yes," she said with a furtive haste, "I'll go get some."

"Tut, tut . . . very good," Mr. Malfoy said in a scratchy tone, glancing down from his high-handed throne of a chair. Harry could not help but to notice that he smelled rather badly, but he did not allow this to show. Ron, on the other hand, was not making as much of a pointed effort to hide his revulsion, and Harry thought that he heard him make an obscure gagging noise- Malfoy loosed a windy sigh at them, leaning back into his chair, while he scratched the back of his head with one of his hands.

"Is that cat ever going to stop staring at me?" Harry looked down at cat-Snape, who was indeed pinpointing, with a grinding drill, their intruder, his eyes alight with a sharp glint that he was quite glad was not directed at him, now that he thought of it . . .

"No," Harry said, "he just enjoys staring. It's just, um, well, it's just- one of his pastimes." Ron sniggered under his breath, and Harry elbowed him, hearing a soft hissing drift towards them from somewhere beneath them. He knew that his friend had caught onto the double-meaning behind his words. Now however, was not the time for levity.

_"Harry, Potter,"_ said Malfoy with a sibilant hiss of his own. He wondered whether Abraxus Malfoy had spent a vast amount of time with Lord Voldemort recently, learning how to sound like a poisonous snake. He did not think, though, that Snape much enjoyed snakes at any rate, even ones that had been tutored, because, a moment later he began hissing back . . . Harry looked at Ron, who just shrugged in turn.

"Blast that cat," Malfoy exclaimed, starting to become somewhat agitated. Harry stepped back marginally, watching him cautiously, not really too keen on giving Snape the benefit in this situation for obvious reasons, but, he was not altogether certain that this was the time to reprimand him. The cat leapt on top of Mr. Malfoy's lap, sinking its long claws into his thighs, while Harry observed, in abject, rather discouraged horror, as a slow trickle of blood seeped from the gashes and two pale hands clamped down on top of them, complimented by a loud, screeching banshee holler. Faster than Harry could take one meager step forward, Snape had fled to the other side of the room, and he broke off, thinking that he might just as well sit down and watch the spectacle, since there was no longer any reason to think that he could control all of this. Unless-

"Sir, I am sorry," Harry said slowly, and suddenly- he could feel Ron's gaze upon him, but he ignored it. An idea had occurred to him sporadically, but due to its whimsical nature he was in no position to judge whether or not it was a decent one, and some part of him was pressing him to take the chance. He licked his dried lips. He had Abraxus Malfoy's attention now. "I am sorry, but I will never be able to control this cat," he said stoutly . . . "you see . . . he is an athletic cat with special powers, and to antagonize him would only mean that he could use his unique set of skills- against us." Ron was completely dumbfounded by his iteration.

"An athletic cat?" asked Mr. Malfoy. Was he interested?

Harry glanced at cat-Snape, whose eyes were gleaming with what he assumed was some sort of demonic mirth- his black eyes were dancing as though alight with some sort of strange eerie fire. Was cat-Snape amused by Harry's ruse? Perhaps. However, he could not think about this, for Mr. Malfoy was now considering the cat carefully, who was, slowly, slinking out from behind the chair to greet him- or rather to stare at him weirdly. His eyes of gray blue were piercing the animal, who stood silent in front of him, and completely still.

"An athletic cat?" Harry and Ron, who had caught onto his pretense, both nodded vigorously. He could see a variety of thoughts pass over the pale man's face. He was so white that he seemed almost sickly . . . the paleness of a spider that had been kept in the dark for too long . . .

"Hmmm . . . " Snape flicked his long tail.

"Strange, indeed," he said, enumerating the last word with a bit of punctuation to it. "I wonder _why_ exactly, you three brought such an animal here with you?" Then he turned his eyes upon them again, giving off the distinct impression of electricity. The three of them glanced at each other uneasily. It had never occurred to Harry that this brilliant plan might be thwarted by such a minute detail, although Hermione's glare seemed to indicate that he was, in fact, an idiot for believing that he would run into no trouble- when had she returned?

"IIII think, that you are a nasty little liar," he told Harry, who quickly looked back up into his wild eyes which were fastened upon him, just like a scythe. Harry shivered. Snape hissed again. He really needed to stop doing that. His lips were bared into a nasty scowl that was much worse than poor Harry's lie . . . "You, girl!" he snapped furiously. Hermione, still holding onto the tea-set and merely watching him interestedly, stepped forward without a missed beat. "Come over here and fix this." He indicated his bleeding thighs.

Harry watched as she visibly swallowed, set down the tea set at a nearby wicker stand, and walked over to Abraxus. She lifted her wand and muttered a cleaning charm with an air of excellence that was proof of her talents, with the ardent spirit and yet the controlled dictate of someone who was disciplined and faultlessly precise. Upon her lips a smug smile was adorned. She then staunched the bleeding with yet another spell that Harry had never heard of. His heart momentarily surged with pride at this display of her skill. What would they have done without her here? Mr. Malfoy demonstrated an aura of complete indifference however.

"Beautiful," he said softly. "Now bring me that cup of tea. That is not _Earl-Gray,"_ he said, sniffing the air as her cup wafted in his direction, causing her to hesitate. "Switch it. _Now." _Harry and Ron looked at each other incredulously. _This_ was his scruple? Ron shook his head surreptitiously.

"Yes sir," Hermione said quickly, shooting them both another quick glance, before scampering into the kitchen while Mr. Malfoy watched over her imperiously.

"It must be extremely beneficial to you two," he said after a minute, turning his attention to Ron and Harry again.

"What?" Harry asked. "You are exceptionally- _well-situated_, here. You have your own muggle maid!" he gasped out, in the thin shape of a missed laugh that didn't come to fruition. Cat-Snape's hackles were raised- he began growling once again.

"He isn't a very nice animal," Mr. Malfoy said, with a frown. "But, I suppose, if he's truly athletic, then we should allow him to stay with us." The man was completely insane, Harry thought, there was no doubt about it now.

"With us?" He cast another look at Ron. The black miniature of Severus Snape had twined himself around their legs, calculating the man with his tunneling, murderous drills. Mr. Malfoy visibly swallowed. Deep down, Harry was congratulating Snape on his performance with an abounding glee at the reaction he was eliciting. He might never have left his human form behind- he still carried with him the same sense of dictatorship and perverted tyranny- Mr. Malfoy shrank back into his seat a bit more.

"Just- keep him away from me," he said, with a very faint, thin shudder. Harry bit his lip. Would now be the moment to slip quietly out of the room, while Mr. Malfoy was engaged by his fear of cat-Snape? Harry could not think of a better time-

They made a hasty excuse that Abraxus miraculously accepted, in order to join Hermione. Snape followed them in a slinking form, hiss back arched tempestuously, as he continued to emit sheer rage from his eyes and the spittle flying from his mouth.

"Come on," Harry whispered to him, his voice laced with a bite of impatience. The ferocious little beast turned that glare upon himself, but he placed his efforts into ignoring the sight of the Potions Master's trademark. In this instance, it was not that difficult . . .

"What are you two doing? You should be watching over Mr. Malfoy," said Hermione as they entered the kitchen.

"Watching over him?" Ron spluttered. "Isn't it him that is guarding us from being able to do anything, period?"

"Yes, but that is not the point," she said patiently. "He's obviously not in his right mind. Why would he- _attempt anything,"_ she slowing her words a bit, enunciating them carefully now, "unless we _forced_ him to?" There was a subtle hint in those words that made Harry glance up from the tea she was carrying, straight into her eyes. Silence permeated as her words hung like a congealed mass upon the air. "We need to watch over him," she repeated, again, deliberately. Hermione was way too clever for her own good, Harry thought. He noticed that Snape was now glaring at her with an intensity that was indecipherable. There was a non-sequitur hanging around them-

"Alright," he agreed. "I don't know what you're planning, exactly, but- "

"Mostly that's because she hasn't told us," Ron muttered beside him, guilelessly. Hermione rolled her eyes-

"But we'll play along." A look of deep contemplation took over her features punctually, squeezing the lines of her forehead with heavy thought. "I don't think that there's any chance of being able to remove him from the cottage, but if we could simply distract his mind from us for a bit- "

"We're right under his nose- " Ron cut in quickly. "How will we- "

"Shhh." She glanced worriedly at the door, and Harry suddenly realized that they were speaking too loudly for their own benefit, and that they would need to exercise more caution at than this- he sincerely hoped that this phrase didn't belong to Snape . . . where did that come from? That would be truly terrible . . .

"Well," said Hermione gently, chewing on the fingernails of her left hand, but her eyes were fastened onto Snape's black ones. "Serendipity, we could really use your assistance," she said with the utmost haste. His eyes sparkled- or did they maliciously gleam?" Harry did not necessarily feel as though this was the best idea that she could have thought of, even if her intentions were not, at this point, fully expressed.

"Yes, but, well, maybe you should ask Serendipity what he thinks first?" he muttered towards her. She looked slightly surprised.

"Well, of course, Harry. What did you think I was going to do?" she asked promptly, although she still looked a little bit anxious. He looked up at the ceiling discreetly, feeling somewhat miffed. A faint growl indicated Snape's displeasure, although it was barely heard- it meandered throughout the small, cluttered kitchen like a low, grumbling warning of something ominous. Suddenly, the three of them heard a resounding crash, and Harry started, although he was not sure what the cause was, for at the same time, a soft, sleek, furry snake of fur twisted itself around his legs.

"Arrrrgh. What- "Snape turned his squashed face towards him- he was attempting to relay a message to him.

"What is it?" Ignoring his undulation that reminded him of a black snake, he abruptly bent down so that he was face to face with the professor, whose ears were flattened to his tiny head. Snape's eyes flicked away from him however. He slowly turned around. The kitchen door had opened so quietly that no one had heard Mr. Malfoy's entrance, cantankerous though it must have been, by the way his body trembled, so violently beneath his long gray t-shirt that his torso resembled a thunderstorm, and his silver eyes were like streams of a wild, beastly venom . . . Harry did not know how to stop, and think for himself- blood was dripping from his temple and lips, which were bared into a tight, ugly stretched-out . . . hiss.

"Mr. Malfoy, what happened?" Hermione gasped out, but it was too late. The man stumbled forward, with his arms outstretched, but just as he reached them, another sound, subtle but clever, complimented this movement-

It happened before Harry could think, happened before he even saw it. A ball of black, blurred in front of him, one that looked like some kind of weather phenomenon, without a name- a second later the shadow flipped over, revealing two eyes of perfect, star-spangled onyx- onyx that by all accounts were too, unerringly pristine, while they glowed with pleasure in the small face. The cat had caught a-hold of its prey's cheek- and everyone's breath stopped. Harry's heart ceased to beat as the feline scrambled about in the air, at apparent ease with its action hanging dutifully onto its enemy. Abraxus Malfoy however, was not content. His arms wrested with the strong cat as he attempted to remove the creature from his face, while the three of them stood watching, as though suddenly paralyzed, at this perilous display, soaked in blood and a deathly type of spirit playing between the two of them.

"I can't watch," whimpered Hermione, turning away from them. Abraxus now had his right hand placed over Snape, but its position had changed, so that it now hovered over his neck.

"Hermione!" Harry cried out, "We have to do something!" But as he turned toward her, a flash of light careened about them, casting a sudden glow on the man that he could scarcely understand, for he shielded his eyes from it, his pale hair falling around his face like a demon's shaggy mane, caught within an orange glow. The sound of thunder rippled through their veins, plaguing everyone into blackness with a whip-like crackle, until, just as quickly as it had begun, everything was yet again silent. The only sound that could be heard was their heavy breathing.

"Could- someone get the lights?" Ron asked in a shaky voice. Harry felt a slight shuffling beside him, and a minute huffing noise. Then the kitchen came back into their respective views. Hermione's hand did not leave the switch though; she stood staring down at the scene with an aghast quality-

An ugly feeling rose up into Harry's constricted, tight, throat. Between the three of them the untamed, negligent form of Abraxus Malfoy lay sprawled, face-down upon the frayed old, coarse linoleum floor. His hair cascaded down over his bedraggled shirt like an omen of the night- the three of them looked at each other. Hermione sprang over to him then, crying shrilly,

"He's not dead!"

"He is not dead, Miss. Granger," said a smooth, cold, silky tone, confirming her statement for her.

"Pro- Professor?"

"Indeed." Out of the icy shadows, the tall, thin form of Professor Snape stepped slowly, looking down his long white, hooked nose coolly at Abraxus. Eventually, an ironic smile spread across his lips. "What we need to determine now, of course, is what the most hospitable manner of guest treatment should take form as . . . "

"Sir?" Harry asked, not liking the look playing across Snape's features. His face swiveled around rapidly. "What is it, Potter?" he spat. Harry bit his lip, but he did not answer Snape's question . . . after all, it was bad enough that they had nicknamed him Serendipity while he was yet a cat- he had not yet determined why Hermione had followed his lead, come to think of it- and he didn't think that pressing his current luck would be wise in any case or circumstance, wise.

"Excellent," Snape said, softly. "Now, let's see . . . " They watched as he circled the man, looking more dangerous than he had ever displayed himself to be as a potions professor while his careworn robes dashed around him, and his hair swung in front of his face like a greasy curtain that was in sore need of a good wash. _"Immobilicorpus!"_ he yelled.

Immediately, long, thick ropes shot out from the end of Professor Snape's wand and twirled themselves subtly about their victim, snaking over his arms and legs while pinning him into place so quietly and gently that they did not wake him.

"How long will- erm- he be unconscious?" Ron asked, sounding vaguely nervous. Snape brushed his long hair out of his sweaty, spidery pale-skinned face, looking like a person who had never seen daylight before. The gaunt circles underneath his black, drilling eyes were exceedingly prominent, and his cheekbones jutted into the cool light of the kitchen severely.

"As long as he needs to be," the Potions Master hissed angrily. Harry could not recall a moment during his past history with the Potions Master in which he had looked quite so malevolent, but, of course, such a detail was always relative, wasn't it? Snape continued to stand over the man, seething, his breathing labored as his chest rose and fell- "Granger!" he snapped, all of a sudden.

"Yes, sir?"

"Boil that tea once again," he said in a somehow ironic, bitter tone. "Malfoy will not be needing it." His head went up a bit higher. Then he left all of them, standing to watch over Abraxus apparently, in the role of some strange sort of guardians as he thrust the door open with a clean movement, re-entering the living area. Honing muggle methods once again without complaint, Hermione stepped back over to the tea-kettle. Harry gave Ron a cursory look.

"What do you suppose brought him back?" Ron asked him.

"I dunno." Harry stared at the door to his left uncertainly. He was as baffled as they were by Snape's reappearance.

"I can't say I'm not happy about it, strange as that sounds," his friend added, his eyes falling back down on Mr. Malfoy's prone body. "I mean, it's not as though we could really defend ourselves against this nut." Harry had to agree with him on this. Then he remembered something.

"Yeah, but- Hermione had a plan- er- didn't you?" he asked. She was still busying herself at the kettle. She shrugged her shoulders noncommittally at this.

"Well . . . of course I did," she snapped after a minute. The she filled her tea-cup, and went to bring Snape his warm drink, without saying anything else on the topic- Harry couldn't help but to wonder if her clothing was bothering her ~


	18. Turned Inside Outwardly

**A big thank you to:**_** LM Ryder, oncecelestialbeing, anyeshabaner, DawnWillis, hazeldragon, and puiwaihin for their reviews.**_

_**A/N:**_** I hope that everyone enjoys this, and a special thank you to those that reviewed, as well as the warmest hugs via long distance to my persevering followers- you know who you are- for the most delectable inspiration that your comments provide. You give my muse one of the most delicious reasons to churn its wheel.**

**I apologize for the uncommon delay in getting this one up. College is keeping me busy, as well as a potpourri of other projects, since my middle name is crazed pandemonium (well that's two) - ah well. If any of you are interested, please feel free to check out my other HP stories as well, or the sites that are listed underneath my profile page . . . **

_**Enough,**_** as Snape would coolly determine. Happy reading, and always feel free to beleaguer me with your questions and your suggestions. You never know when one of those slaphappy thoughts might appear in this crazy rendering of our beloveds. As an aside, I wonder what it is about Harry and his meandering thoughts? He never does seem about to stop abusing Snape in his mind. After all, it isn't Snape's fault that I in my omniscient certainty decided that he would be suited as a cat, is it? If anyone should be blamed, it should be me, don't you think ;) Poor Snape. He always does seem to get the worst end of it.**

**Cheers!**

**{Disclaimer: The originals are not mine, as you all understand}**

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**Chapter 18-**

**Inside Turned Outwardly . . . **

Snape was languidly stretched across one of the padded green armchairs, his hand clenched around the armrest, a demonstration of his displeasure that was solidified in that one small gesture. But he stared coldly into the fireplace without so much as a glance in the direction of the door that had just been opened up behind him. Harry drew in a sharp, jagged breath and continued into the room through the slaphappy display created by Ron earlier, as he had fallen out of one of the plush cushions, in a hasty pursuit that might have been caused from drinking too much Butterbeer- sighing, he went to the center of their self-designed resting area in order to put several of the cushions back onto another chair- his handiwork did not look much better though- and it still seemed as though the room had been wasted by a group of drunken partiers after a Quidditch celebration.

"Where is that tea, Granger?" Snape asked, his voice raised and tight-lipped, sounding fatigued, and, for that, eerily ornery . . .

Just as soon as the door creaked open once again, Harry heard a strangled,

"Ow!" coupled with an ominous clatter that made him cringe and place his head a bit lower to the ground through a motive that he certainly did not define to be anything save for seeking out a more convenient position . . .

"Hermione," Ron groaned.

"Ron, you_ caused me to trip," _she cried out, sounding more distressed than the occasion seemed to warrant. Death was most assuredly being brewed behind Snape's fiery eyes, that billowed the coal of his interior outward while he followed the source of this latest misdemeanor they'd committed, his profile a shadow of stalking, greasy-haired bat mystery- the foreboding enigma however, soon became familiar as he reprimanded Hermione's blunder.

"Do clean up this mess, Granger, and, let's see, tut-tut- I should think that I do not need to remind you the price that the use of magic evokes . . . which would most assuredly have the potential to bring all of us _great hardship,"_ he said, stressing the last two words. His sneer turned into the lightest scowl that precluded his sweep into the kitchen. Harry finally chanced a look up, and turned to get a purview of the chaotic scene at hand. Hermione was now bent over the graceless and unmistakably broken tea-set, while Ron merely stood in the doorway, somehow managing to look nonplussed as well as eternally embarrassed, as remarkable a feat as that was. Snape must have said something in an undertone to Abraxus, but Harry did not hear what words were emitted, even though such a dictate was strange, since the Malfoy relation was supposedly unconscious. Snape, however, had been in a worse mood than ever since he had had shown up at the cabin a few hours ago, so perhaps he was merely allowing that feeling a greater venue.

"He's still unconscious, yes," Hermione replied, answering the unspoken question that was still lingering upon the threshold of his lips. She wiped several strands of sweaty hair out of her face before straightening slowly, and then deliberately walked away from the still steaming, black liquid, which had now thoroughly soaked into the rug. Without saying a word to Ron, Harry hurriedly completed the process and, licking his lips, tactfully told Ron as an aside to grab some towels out of the kitchen.

He waited until the door had been closed securely, before gathering the last few remains of the shattered cup and kittle fragments, before he walked the set back over to Hermione, who was now resting in front of the fireplace. Her chin dipped into a little triangle her hands had formed. He thought that he saw a flicker of the gold liquid from the light dance within her brown orbs- but a second later, it had vanished, leaving the windows of some type of small dying shadow in their place, and she turned her head away from him with an uncharacteristically fragile movement.

Stewed by consternation, Harry set the tray beside them, and pivoted so that he mimicked a stance that was similar to her own. Both of them remained quiet. He could hear her breathing, and thought that in some way it complimented the gentility which seemed to have overpowered the sensation of the room- deep, quiet, gentle throbbing of peace and flame that stole over their them in a devious manner, so unexpected he thought, and yet so pleasant, particularly after the recent turn of events. Then he heard her breathing hitch. Harry looked at her sharply with concern.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

"It's these bindings. This halter top. I never wear them. Mum never let me wear them," she hissed out, her voice sizzling with an anger that took him away from the minute of serenity. "I think that it must have belonged to the other girl. It's making my breathing so- _difficult_." Harry bit his tongue. He tried not to sound as though he was scolding her, but the half suppressed words were nearly pouring from his system.

"I honestly can't believe that you didn't ask for any assistance all summer. How could you not ask for the expertise of someone that knows how to reverse it, Hermione?"

"Harry- " She reached an arm toward him while he attempted to stand, but he brushed her hand back toward her. He had reached an ultimatum.

"No," he stated firmly. "It isn't as though we don't already need to accomplish all sorts of dangerous tasks, and here you sit thinking that it would be more convenient to live with this type of- well, whatever you call it," he said, gesturing toward her, causing her to wrap her arms around herself, "for no reason other than your pride."

"That's not- " she started to argue, her face heating up, but Harry's mind was already made up. "We're living with one of the professors for Merlin's sake, and, while he may not be as keen to help as Professor McGonagall would, I'm sure that he couldn't turn down our request and answer to Dumbledore about it."

He purposefully arose and strode in the same direction that Snape had carved out into the kitchen a few minutes before, bent on finding him and requesting his magical assistance for Hermione. He just needed to use a certain amount of- well, tact and diplomacy, that was it. She opened and closed her mouth two more times as he was leaving, but, before he turned the knob closed it abruptly and folded her arms across her chest. He felt an internal flurry of satisfaction.

"Hi, Harry," Ron grunted. Harry had shoved his way through to the kitchen, only to find that Snape was no longer in there. His eyebrows drew together in a testimony to his bereft mind though, as he rapidly lost a-hold of his reasoning, at least temporarily. "Snape said that he wanted me to, you know- 'keep a close eye upon this scum,' and that I would need to be right beside him so that I could watch his every move." Harry rolled his eyes as he watched his friend, honestly not knowing quite what he should think. Ron was crouched down upon the floor over the scraggly-haired, unconscious lunatic, and he could not help but to think that this was, in fact, extremely like Neville.

"Ron," he entreated finally, exasperated. "Come and stand up with me before you earn a reputation similar to Neville Longbottom's." He could not help but to feel faintly annoyed with him. Ron began standing as he brushed off his rumpled clothes, looking somewhat hangdog.

"Guess you're right," he muttered sheepishly. "It's just that- well, he held his wand to my head he did, the git- " He was slowly turning pink.

"Ron, do you know where Snape went?" Harry interrupted him.

"Outside, I think," he grunted again with his head slightly lowered still. "It wasn't as though I really thought that was necessary, you know, I just . . . did it for laughs, that's all." Harry threw a lopsided grin over his shoulder. "It's alright, Ron, I understand." He chuckled underneath his breath as he exited the room, but tossed back through the door, with a tone of closely suppressed merriment, "You should be glad that it was I who caught you and not Malfoy. Um, Draco Malfoy," he added on second thought, glancing down at his relation. Then he quietly schooled his face back into a serious expression that relayed to Ron the alleged graveness of the situation. He wondered at his own skills in subtlety- and he barely suppressed a laugh.

Harry had turned out the door and closed it to the emission of an indecipherable stream of something that Ron said, which he didn't think suited the situation as it should have done- for truly Ron was just a little bit on edge. It was not long, however, before he wished that he had stayed with him and teased him, even longer than he did when he barreled into a terribly formidable wall of deep black, that caused him to stumble forward in some manner because it was likely that there was a predominate force somewhere that had not consulted with him in the slightest, which wanted him to fall, flush up against Snape's chest- through what he considered to be positively no fault of his own, of that there was no question at all- save for the tight-lipped fury that worked its way across Severus Snape's features, which told him otherwise since this was Harry's blunder and no one else's, most assuredly. He could not blame this on external forces or magic of any kind, as he blundered full up against Professor Snape and was forced to balance himself there.

"Potter!" he snapped at him, sounding appalled, spitting his name out like a rogue lemon that had been squashed before being offered to the Potions Master, "kindly- remove yourself from my person, _immediately."_

"I- didn't- " Harry stepped back from him immediately with a wry smile that could not by any means eliminate his folly, that loosened his lips from sheer nerves. The nerves certainly won, looping into a strange, quirky downward fury, and then he felt his face flushing a deep red from mortification. Of course Severus Snape staked out a nervous anxiety in him that he could not possibly use against his own, now brightly shining exterior, because his anxiety could not compare with his utter and inexplicable, complete and full loss of his dignity it would seem.

Harry now thought that his chances of attaining any assistance for his friend might be considerably lowered, and he was immensely sorry in so many ways for what had occurred that it would be impossible to name them all- yet he knew at this moment that he would never attempt to tackle the problem at hand. And, Snape was staring at him with utter, frank, boring fascination, as though he were a disease that he would like to chop into a refreshing potions experiment.

"Potter," Snape spoke in a low, deadly and concise tone that promised a shining silver death upon him. "If you ever again lay your head against my person- "

"Professor!" Harry had not even heard the door behind him open, but Hermione must have slipped out sometime during the aftermath of his great faux de pass, because she stepped out into the golden sun, smiling at them both brightly and airily, her hand held up toward the sunshine, with a stone of some sort clutched between her fingers. Harry eyed her gesture in bewilderment, as Snape's mouth thinned into a distant sort of weird displeasure at this interruption of belittling Harry in the most profound and efficient manner that he had ever yet had the opportunity of- _milking- _he would never be allowed to forget his cat stowed away somewhere underneath that pallor. He wanted to laugh with exaggerate fierceness at his own sense of acute irony, and, at the same time, digest one of Snape's poisons which would cause him to disappear eternally at this minute.

"I think that Harry just tripped over this stone," she said hastily, walking between the two of them with the rock cradled next to her chest closely, exhibiting a serene exterior as peaceful as the rustling wind walloping over the green grass, and anointed with the air of atonement for some reason. Did she think that Snape would forgive him for this performance? What was causing her to play the peacemaker? He swallowed thickly as she began to speak.

"There is nothing wrong with having an accident, Professor Snape." Harry looked up at Snape, but he could not force away the unwitting smile that tugged upon the corners of his mouth once again. Hermione was drinking too much tea, he thought to himself with an inner laugh which admittedly did not make any sense, even thought to his mind nothing at this moment would perhaps be discovered to be in a comprehensive measure. Yet her appearance was a fortunate chance to some degree, he admitted to himself somewhat unwittingly.

"It caused him to rocket off the threshold and to fall against you," she explained, rapidly, still smiling in a manner that caused him to wonder whether stress had finally made her brain ricochet to another time and place, for indeed, Merlin knew that it was probably overused anyway, but that was nevertheless not the point. Snape was completely silent, staring at his friend as though he had never seen anything that quite resembled her before, and, if Harry did not know any better, he would assume that he was as surprised as he was, albeit in his own rather reclusive way. However, whatever Snape withheld was covered with a precise measure that in every likelihood only the Potions Master at Hogwarts could master.

"Indeed," he sneered at her adeptly. Then one of his finely chiseled eyebrows rose into the air and shot into his white forehead. "Granger." The word dipped into a cadence of low undertones as he continued to speak, giving Harry a slight chill. He did not enjoy watching the immense look in Snape's eye of strange knowingness that he had never quite seen replicated upon the face of anyone else.

"Perhaps then . . . " he said slowly, his mouth forming into an eerily still, diluted sort of small smile, "you could explain what _exactly_ Mr. Potter was doing out here Mrs. Granger, and for what purpose he did- incidentally- as you put it so precisely, fall against me due to his careless ah- step." Hermione blinked a couple of times, and if Harry was not mistaken, he saw her own eyebrows scrunch into a trained concentration with an indecisive quality. She lowered her head to study her trainers.

"Sir, he- Harry was looking for you because- well, he needed your assistance with something . . ."

_He knows,_ Harry thought, with a not altogether comprehensible lump that was growing larger- _he knows because he heard us speaking about her problem when he was still a cat. He must have remembered. _He was not entirely sure why this should bother him, come to think of it, considering the reason he came outside in the first place. He snuck a glance at Hermione again but she now shook her head back and forth minutely, as though she were trying to convey a signal to him, which fortunately, he caught, although he was not sure that it would matter.

"Well? I'm waiting for an answer Ms. Granger. Surely- the _brightest witch_ of her age can procure a complete response to a simple query such as this?" Suddenly Hermione lifted her head. She smoothed her flyaway curly hair away from her temples and looked straight at Snape. Her cheeks were fiercely trilling with the brightness of a merry bell, so red were they, but-

"I think you already know that answer to that," she said in a stout, quiet tone. Snape's smile grew wider. His eyes were now glittering in a way that made him wonder as to the exact reason for Snape's profession, for, surely, he would have been much more suited to the role of power. It had always surprised Harry that he had never been openly declared to be one of Lord Voldemort's followers . . . but then, he still had no proof that he hadn't. There was a heartbeat of silence in which Harry could hear only the quiet breathing of Snape and Hermione, hers in a more ragged type of flow that portrayed her shallowly-veiled nervousness.

"I see," he finally said, in a tone of dangerous quiet. "The meticulous girl from Gryffindor is requesting my expertise? How fitting," he said softly. "I wonder why, exactly, you see it proper Ms. Granger, to lower your standards?" Harry was a bit confused by this statement, until Snape added sleekly, "Surely one of such irrefutable accomplishments could determine the correct equation to figure out such simple spell-work?" Hermione lowered her head again infinitesimally, and he watched while her bushy mane cascaded around her in a wanton way, as though only a slight jerk on her part might have moved her feminine features in a manner that would inadvertently hide her soul from Snape's prying eyes. Harry knew that it was not deliberate, and a sudden urge to protect her came over him. He moved to stand closer to her.

"It isn't her fault that she couldn't figure out the spell," he said defensively, completing forgetting about his upset, placing a hand lightly on her shoulder. She continued to be silent. He wanted to gauge the look of fulfillment in the dancing of his eyes right out of Snape's coal-coloring, and perhaps, come to think of it, curse him into black cat for all that once again. It did suit him, after all.

"Really, Potter? And how would such an act behoove you?" he asked him with a venomous quiet rush of air. Harry was now chilled to the bone. He quickly looked away from Snape. Hermione merely appeared as though she were trying to fight down some emotion that was threatening to spill out of her.

"I'm sorry, Professor." Harry looked up at her in astonishment. Her hands were splayed out in a pleading gesture that had no bearing in this conversation, as far as he was concerned. Yet the next words that came out of her mouth astonished him. "I didn't mean to call you Serendipity when you were a cat. It's just that- well, I thought that all familiars enjoyed a pet name, and- " She said this in a rush, while the strange look immediately vanished from Snape's face.

"You will never mention this again, Granger," he said through gritted teeth, his mouth a thin white line of poignant displeasure at this moment. His white skin turned an ugly shade of puce, and Harry could not help but to think that this situation would be extremely funny if he had just lain himself up against Snape's chest, albeit inadvertently. She quieted.

"You," he snapped furiously, pointing one of his long-fingered white hands towards Hermione. "You will come with me." Relief coursed through Harry's chest- at least he'd gotten what he came for.

"Yes, Professor."

"And you, Potter," he said deleteriously, the venom dripping through his words, "you stay here!" Harry just nodded. Somehow he did not think that it would be wise to argue with him now. He swept through the door with a finish sweep of black panoply that enchanted Harry for a moment- then he saw Hermione glanced back at him surreptitiously, looking slightly nervous, and he mouthed 'good luck,' to her.

"Keep an eye over this scum, Mr. Weasely, if you have the mental stamina."

"Stamina, sir?" Harry shook his head to himself, thinking that if Ron had twenty years in which to form into a proper wizard, pitted against Snape, he-

"Come here, Granger." Harry found himself desirous to watch over the process as they progressed throughout the cottage, but he knew that Hermione deserved her privacy, although that of course, was a relative term, in this instance, for Snape was certainly violating it. Whatever scheme she had worked out earlier, obviously hadn't worked, and he could not help but to wonder what exactly was churning through her mind. It would not have made a difference. Perhaps she had been trying to prepare herself more thoroughly for the query.

_"Shlempardelium!" _Snape cried out. Harry breathed out a great sigh of relief as a black halter top went flying out of the window . . .

"Potter! Weasely! Come here!" Snape called out, sounding unrelentingly furious, more so than the situation would merit. Nevertheless, he didn't dare disobey, especially after the Snape had just reversed the spell for her. He met Ron in the kitchen, who looked just as unhappy as he did at the prospect of having a small soiree chat by the fireplace with Snape.

"Yes, Professor?" he asked, trying to make his voice sound respectful as he pushed open the door. He spotted Hermione standing beneath the tiny window, patting her T-shirt, and, maybe it was his imagination, but she seemed to be breathing easier. Snape stalked the enclosure with a furious display of black embroidery, his face a depiction of throbbing skin and veins that threatened to break out- and spill over them. He swiveled around to meet the two of them, and stood as a staunchly rooted rock.

"You two will keep a watch over Malfoy's pathetic excuse for a relation," he sneered, "while I pay a visit to the headmaster." Harry felt a surge of something he couldn't identify.

"Does Professor Dumbledore know that he turned up?" The question simply came pouring out of him, and he was useless to stop it. Snape's mouth quivered. Harry thought that he was not going to answer him, but a minute later he said coldly,

"It is not likely that the headmaster was aware of Malfoy's plan, but his appearance is nevertheless a cue for all of us." Harry stared at him, pondering over this cryptic answer.

"You mean- it has something to do with this spell?" he wondered aloud. A spark enlivened Snape's eyes that Harry was appeased to see in some way, although he knew, instinctively, that he would not receive a verbal answer from Snape. A strange look crossed over his features faintly, and then vanished. Then the Potions Master lifted one of his spidery, chalk-white fingernails into the air and examined it.

"You and your friends are in no immediate danger," he sneered, his black eyes roving over the three of them cursorily. He walked out without another glance at them, waving his wand in a serious of cadence and bizarre, complicated labyrinth moves as he went. None of them seemed to be able to identify thought and place it with a verbal statement after the door closed, and Harry was just about to go and check on Mr. Malfoy when Ron broke the ice.

"Well on the bright side," he said, his voice fluctuating with an ironically gay semblance, "at least now we can try and find something to eat." Harry and Hermione pinned him with an odd stare . . .


	19. Imminent Promises of Doom

**Special thanks goes out to _anyeshabener_ and _hazeldragon ~_**

**{A/N: None of the originals are mine of course}**

**Please enjoy, and let me know what your thoughts are about the piece.**

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**Chapter 19-**

**Imminent Promises of Doom~**

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Snape had not been absent for more than a couple of hours, when Harry, Ron, and Hermione decided that it was necessary- mostly due to Ron's uniquely strange penchant for eating food that had not yet been presented to him, by ogling flames in the fire that he considered to be marshmallows due to their fluffy design he noticed at one point, to scour the garden outside so that they would be able to determine what had not yet been grown to full maturity, and what had.

"I- think that we're going to have to re-grow those," Ron said, pointing towards a particularly shabby-looking vegetable patch with a finger that apparently needed to convey his annoyance, due to the fact that it was trembling with it. Harry looked in the direction that Ron was pointing. The carefully arranged conglomeration of exotic, purplish blobs that Hermione had placed in two rows had become somehow entwined around each other, and it looked as though they had been magically rearranged into a splendiferous frenzy. The leaves of each plant were sadly wilted or crushed into the dirt to the extent that they could barely be seen, and a couple of squashy-looking fruits, which had names associated with them that Harry assumed would be much better suited to higher level academic areas that he was not familiar with, had been opened- their guts were hanging out, portraying obvious irreparable damage. Hermione rounded on the two of them quickly, her brown eyes flashing at them both madly.

"Which one of you did this?" she demanded of them, placing her hands on her hips in what Harry thought to be a perfect replication of Mrs. Weasely. Ron backed away from her. He threw his hands up.

"I swear I didn't touch them!" She rounded upon him. Harry scratched his head, and then looked down at the ground, averting his eyes from his two friends.

"Well, the other night, you know . . . I went out to get Snape, remember? And- well, I couldn't see anything, and, well- " he gestured helplessly towards the patch. She didn't say anything to him. "I'm really sorry, Hermione. I was going to tell you about it, but I never got the chance." He really did feel bad about it, but there was nothing that he could say in his defense of the matter. She sighed, and let her hands fall back down to her sides. She looked sadly at her wilted garden patch.

"Well, there's nothing anyone can do about it now, I suppose. Honestly though, Harry, I wish that you'd have at least _come_ to me the other night. If you had, then I might have been able to re-grow something edible by now. As it stands . . . " Harry noticed that Ron was casting him a particularly glinting glare, with the strong impression that he was a human knife gliding through the air. Harry's eyes narrowed.

"But what do we have to eat now?" he burst out, gesturing madly at the garden patch. It seemed that the last of Ron's reserves were being tested, and were being consequently failed, in the face of this demonstration.

"Calm down, Ron," she placated. "There's still the other patch, after all," she said, although her words ended on a sigh to Harry's slight disappointment, even though for what reason he couldn't really imagine. However, he looked towards the other side of the back door, where the momentarily intact garden still grew, observing quietly for a minute the rather picturesque works of different fruits and bright, pink vegetables, which he would of course, never be able to call by their proper names . . . and he noticed, to his dismay, that there couldn't have been more than nine or ten of them in all. That was hardly enough to sustain them for even a few hours. The other patch had held, by the looks of it, between at least twenty and thirty which were fully grown until the other night.

"Maybe we can just tell Professor Dumbledore what happened," he suggested. "After all, it was his idea to make us do this."

"Yeah," said Ron, his face immediately brightening at this notion. "Why don't we just tell him, Hermione? After all, Harry's right- it was the old bloke's idea to make us grow our own food. And, if the plan didn't work, we just need to let him know right? It was probably just a tentative plan in the first place- some way for him to test us probably . . . "

"But that's just it Ron!" Hermione cried, obviously not sharing in the sentiment of their words. "That's just it- don't you see . . . Dumbledore wants us to try our strength. And we can't do as he asks if we just come to him with every tiny problem that we encounter- "

"Encounter- " Ron started heatedly, "with all due respect Hermione, I think that not having anything to eat is more than a 'little problem.'" Harry had to concede Ron's point. Hermione made an imitation grab at her hair.

"But that's not the point! What if we jeopardize his plan?" She looked fixedly at Harry. "I think that everything we are doing here is directly correlated to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named," she said quietly. "If that is his focus then I don't think that it would be a wise idea to question it, and if it is, then we should do as he says." A silence followed her words. Harry glanced at Ron. His cheek had inflated to a marginal degree, as though he was holding his tongue in his cheek. He allowed his eyes to rove towards the sky, his irises rising with a few straggling birds overhead that were trying to keep up with the main crowd. He had to admit that she was probably correct. Finally, he said,

"I know that you're probably right. If this is what Dumbledore meant for us to do, then we shouldn't question it." Ron opened his mouth to argue, but Harry held one of his hands up. Although he looked extremely piqued, he closed his mouth and fell silent.

"And anyway," Harry continued, "it's not as though he won't be aware of what's going on. Snape said that he was going to talk to him just a couple of hours ago. And I'm quite sure that Snape doesn't want to starve either. He'll most likely mention the problem when he sees him."

"Harry's right Ron," Hermione said, her voice wavering between annoyance and a strange gentleness that was somehow leaking in. "Professor Dumbledore wouldn't let us starve. This is just a test for us- think of it like an exam- only, rather than being tested on academics I suppose, we are being pressed for our ability to endure, and our strength of forbearance." Ron stayed quiet on the topic. There seemed to be nothing else to say.

"Well," she emitted, her voice flowing out into the empty air around them, "I suppose that we should go back inside and wait. We need to keep a watch over Mr. Malfoy. Although I'm sure that he can't go anywhere with Professor Snape's binds around him, we need to ensure that he doesn't wake up, unless either of you feels compelled to engage him in discussion to keep him occupied." Ron suppressed a shudder.

"How do you suppose he ended up here, anyway?" he asked after a pause. "Do you think that he followed us over here?"

"Well," Hermione responded, as she opened the door to the kitchen. From his vantage point over her shoulder, Harry could see that Mr. Malfoy still lay in a relaxed state of repose. "I don't think that it's likely his appearance here is a coincidence." Her voice grew grave. "Because of the fact that our circumstances were planned out in an extremely deliberate fashion by the headmaster of Hogwart's School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, it seems to me that for someone to know where we are, that person would have had to have been plotting our movements from the start, and he obviously has inside information about us." This time it was Harry's turn to shudder. From the corner of her eye, Hermione caught the movement. She turned.

"What's wrong Harry?"

"I- "

For reasons that he couldn't fully explain to himself, Harry had never told either of them about the stranger that had been encircling Snape's parameters that day that they were forced to leave his house, but now, he found himself unable to suppress the feeling of obvious . . . Serendipity that was coursing through him. The word struck his very heart with a bow string that insistently continued to play deep, reverberating chords through his entire breast.

"I need to tell you two something," he said in a rush, casting a furtive look down at Mr. Malfoy. Ron followed his gaze.

"I don't think he'll wake up, mate, but let's go into the living room just to be safe." He nodded his assent, and the three of them crept towards the door. Hermione opened it quietly, and without speaking, they all sat down in their respective seats in front of the fire, which they seemed to have claimed as their own at this point, and then his two friends looked toward him expectantly, waiting for him to speak. Harry took in a deep breath.

"When I was still at Snape's house with him, we- well, we had an encounter that wasn't exactly one which Snape was happy about." Ron snorted.

"Well, that's purely astonishing," he put in. Harry gave him a half-crooked, half-wry smile. Then his tone grew serious, and he set his expression into a blank slate.

"Harry," Hermione said slowly, her brow furrowed. She paused, contemplating. Harry could practically see the dendrite wheels working in her brain. "The intruder that you are speaking of caused you to leave, didn't he?" Ron glanced at her, his mouth agog.

"What are you on about, Hermione, eh?" She didn't even spare him a glance. Her eyes were locked with Harry's- he could see the moment when the thought struck, because her eyes lit up and her mouth opened into a round 'o.'

"It was Mr. Malfoy, wasn't it?" she asked him, her neck swiveling around like a jack back toward the kitchen, as though it were being yanked. Then she turned back to him excitedly. "You didn't come here _only_ because Professor Dumbledore asked you to." It was more of a statement than anything else. She narrowed her eyes at him, as though searching for the truth in his face. Harry met her eyes evenly, holding her gaze steadfastly. "You came because you were being followed," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. Ron broke the epiphany.

"What does it matter if they came because they were being followed?" he asked. "That man's a total loon. Why do you think Snape bound him up and made us keep watch over him?"

"It matters, Ron," she said, still keeping her voice low, "because Mr. Malfoy was probably sent to us. He wouldn't be following Harry and Professor Snape coincidentally. Do you honestly think that the Professor asked him to come over voluntarily for a tea date, on his free will?" she asked, her voice laced with sarcasm.

"Well no," he said over a half-choked gulp, "no, of course I didn't. Not really. I just thought . . . " Hermione ignored him. She turned back to Harry.

"The spell that Professor Snape performed was meant to forge a connection between you two, because He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is unable to foster any- well any real connections, I imagine. Maybe he is becoming wise to the fact that Dumbledore is coaching us to fight against him," she said. "Perhaps that's why he chose to send someone like Mr. Malfoy after us, so that he doesn't miss out on any essential parts to the plan." As Ron was still looking a bit lost, Harry decided to respond to this.

"Someone like Mr. Malfoy? It's possible, but, why would he choose him? What could he do?"

"Yeah," Ron finally put in, "the man became confused by Harry's ruse about Snape being an athletic cat. I mean, seriously . . . " he chortled. Hermione waved a hand.

"That isn't the point. In fact, I think that Mr. Malfoy would be the perfect puppet for him, if he was just trying to attain some extra information, because of the fact that he is a bit- well, a bit barmy," she conceded. "I mean think about it. He wouldn't want to expose any of his close followers for something that he considers to be relatively unimportant, at least in the greater scheme of his own goals . . . because that way he wouldn't be as concerning about something going wrong. He wouldn't volunteer any of his indispensible followers unless it was absolutely necessary. After all, think about it from his point of view. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is still very weak. When you saw him last year, Harry, he was only in his spirit form."

"A spirit that somehow attached itself to the head of our Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, " Ron put in, his face slightly white. Harry himself felt a slight shudder run through him. His encounter with Lord Voldemort last year had never completely faded away from his mind, and all throughout the summer he had lived through that terrible time down the bowels of Hogwarts over and over again in his dreams.

"I know, Ron," she said, biting her lip, "but that wasn't really his true form. He needed to attach himself to someone else to even communicate."

"She's right," Harry said, giving Ron a cursory glance. "Voldemort was only able to do everything that he did because he found someone else to do his bidding for him. Then he just- faded away again," he said, musing over this fact, becoming lost in his own thoughts.

"Exactly," said Hermione. "That's why he would be willing to do anything at the moment to regain his power- even send somebody like Abraxus- it's what he's been doing for years," she said, looking at Harry contemplatively.

"Well . . . yeah, I guess that's- perfectly possible I suppose . . . " said Ron. Hermione leaned back into her cushion, staring into the fire.

"We need to figure out exactly why Dumbledore chose this particular spell," she said after a time. "There must be a reason why he chose this one."

"I think I rather like Snape in his cat form," Ron said, chortling. "He's- well, I don't want to say that he's cute exactly, but as a cat he seems a bit more- well, I dunno, relaxed or something, you know what I mean?" Harry chuckled.

"Yeah, I think I do." Hermione simply rolled her eyes.

"I still think that we should give him a familiar's name."

"We already have," Harry started in heatedly.

"I mean one that we can use permanently," she said. "We haven't exactly been consistent about using Serendipity, have we Harry? And that's not going to be sufficient. We can't just continue to call him something that everyone is not comfortable using. It would just confuse him."

"Hermione, he's not a real cat! He's not going to get confused," Harry said, hardly believing his ears. "Why in the world would he care about consistency? He doesn't even like the name, and I seriously doubt that he wants us to rename him, at any rate."

"That isn't the point Harry," she sighed. "Every pet needs a familiar's name. It makes them feel needed. How would you like it if someone forced you to be an animal for days at a time, and you were unable to make others understand you? In the case of someone like Professor Snape, it must be even more difficult than usual, because- "

"Because he's Snape," Ron put in. "Honestly Hermione, aren't you exhausting this idea a bit? If you want my opinion, Snape's temperament is much more improved as a cat. I mean he actually did something that was _useful_ in here, when he practically scared the life out of Mr. Malfoy. Just because he can't control people to the extent that he always does, doesn't mean that he needs comfort!" Harry had to laugh. He had to admit that Ron had a good point.

"Oh, you two," she said. "Think about how he must be _feeling._ That's just the point. If you were used to exerting the same kind of discipline and dictation that Snape always does, you wouldn't be happy either if someone forced you into your animagus form. That is all the more reason for us to show him that we appreciate what he's doing, even if he is a little, well- even though he can be unkind."

"Downright nasty, I'd say," Ron altered. She dipped her head slightly in acknowledgement. Harry gave a low sigh.

"Well- there's nothing we can do about it now," he said. "We don't even know when he'll be back. Guess we should just make the best of our time here." Hermione drew her lower lip in and out of her mouth, lost once again in her own thoughts.

"That's an excellent idea, Harry. If we have all this time to ourselves, then we might as well use it to be productive. I'm going to go see about growing some more vegetables." As she got up to leave, Ron sank more deeply into his chair.

"Well, since she's seeing to that . . . I might as well take a nap for a bit. Catch up on some sleep, you know? We have a lot on our plates right now, after all. Need to be well rested . . . " He began to dose. Harry grinned at him. He looked back into the fireplace. For some reason, he couldn't completely shake the feeling that something was hovering over them still, like a harbinger of a quiet, deathly doom . . .


	20. A Familiar Picture

**A special thanks to **_**hazeldragon**_** for her review of the last chapter. **

**A/N: To my readers of this story, please accept my apologies for the atrociously late update. I am getting ready to graduate this month- I have no other excuses, although I do tend to revolve between different stories a lot. I pray that there are no typo errors in this, but be kind, and note that I continually revise many chapters. PLEASE do feel free to tell me your thoughts, on this piece. I have no idea how to gage whether or not you like it if you don't ;) In addition, it is four o'clock in the morning, and my birthday as well, so please reward my energies! Your reviews mean so much, and they motivate and inspire me to keep writing. **

**Happy reading =)**

_**SM ~**_

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**My Cat My Potions Professor**

_**A Familiar Picture ~**_

"Harry, tell me the name of the spell again. I don't see it anywhere in this book." Harry nearly growled in frustration, not fully comprehending exactly why Hermione would need him to once again iterate the spell. It was not his fault if the Snape's unique creativity in creating spells was not in the book, after all, and he nearly told her that this was not a viable factor in her overzealous examination. However, this did not seem to be important to Hermione. Ron was watching the interaction closely from across the room.

"Bloody hell, Hermione, he's already mentioned it seven times already. What more do you want? It's not his fault that that _greasy git_ created spell-work that no one in their right mind would ever use. It's not in the books about dark magic because he's probably the only one in wizarding history to ever say the incantation to anyone." Hermione, who was sprawled across the floor in front of the fireplace before three different, thick leather tombs that were opened to various pages, pulled her hair away from her face and frantically flipped the one in the middle to the correct page. Ron almost gagged while attempting a pathetic mime of a bookworm losing himself to vicious text upon an imaginary page, which really didn't make any sense, causing Harry to turn away from him, frowning. The redhead on the other side of the room turned beat-red.

"What exactly did the man look like, Harry? Why weren't you able to get a clear depiction of his face?" Harry nearly growled with frustration, and abruptly stood up from his chair, rubbing his arms involuntarily, feeling suffocated by the stifling heat already. He really didn't understand why she needed to keep the fireplace on, even after Snape had extricated her from whatever spell had stuck her clothes to her for several months-

"I need to go outside for some fresh air," he muttered to the side, making a half attempt at grace while he left the room without scowling at Hermione, and totally ignoring Ron. For some reason that he really didn't understand, he felt completely awry at the moment, and not in the position to be courteous or comprehensible. He needed some time alone to think. He reached the door within seconds, ignoring the protests being emitted from both of his friends and the clunk indicating Ron's smack, perhaps, to the floor as he slid down onto the floor unceremoniously next to Hermione, continuing to help her pursue her research. Half grinning in an ironic way, Harry went outside, feeling truly wayward and almost, strangely, nonplussed. He walked about two meters into the yard behind the cabin, and then slid down to his bottom upon the grass, scowling at the hard ground as it met his skin. He then placed his arms around his knees and sat there, languidly staring out over the landscape, almost in a trance, his head spinning.

He could not help but to hope that Snape would return, because he did not feel as though they were safe with Mr. Malfoy, and his skin was crawling with a foreboding that should have indicated to him that there was more to the matter at hand. He almost pulled his hair . . there was more to the matter! Why could his friends not see that? He knew from the depths of his being that Mr. Malfoy's appearance at their abode was more than simply the coincidence of a raving lunatic, whether dispatched or not by Voldemort. He nearly looked into the distance for Snape, but caught his movement at the last minute and stopped himself. He knew that Snape went to attain information from Professor Dumbledore. It was essential that he was wise to the content of that interaction. He sighed windily. He never thought to himself that he would be searching for the source of safety and enlightenment from Snape. He wanted to grab himself with a rough shake, but he would spiral towards the irksome dirt beneath him, and turn into a butterbeer splattering everywhere- as Ron had been lately . . . unceremonious. He nearly laughed.

A crack in the distance portrayed his worst thoughts, splaying them in front of his eyes, although he had no one save for himself to blame for this irony. There stood the Hogwarts Potions Master, his robes billowing out beneath him in a sea of gliding, sharp waves of black scythes, walking so quickly toward him that he nearly blanched due to sheer astonishment. However, Snape was upon him before he could even make sense out of his scattered thoughts, and he knew that his green eyes must be giving the appearance of needling emeralds against his white pallor- he felt slightly sick, although for no apparent reason. He couldn't decipher the sudden change inundating his mood. Two black boots pointed up toward him in a joust.

"Potter," Snape snarled, eyes narrowed down at Harry. Vaguely, Harry wondered how it was possible for one to walk so quickly, and yet so stealthily. He swallowed around a large tomb that had made its way into his throat as though it were bent towards death. "How long have you been sitting there?" he hissed out. Harry had the distinct impression that Snape was about to slice him in to human particles, although he had no idea what he had done to merit this profound attitude on his part- perhaps just being Harry was enough. His throat felt like parchment. He shook his head in a jerky, back and forth movement.

"I'm not entirely sure," he admitted, watching the veins in his hands as though they were interesting versions of plant stems. He looked back up at Snape. What was foremost on his mind came bubbling out of him before he could make any attempt to stop himself, although he wished afterward that he had made a stronger attempt at force.

"What was your meeting with Professor Dumbledore about?" he blurted. Snape just stood there staring, a nasty smile playing about his mouth. Harry experienced a sudden wish for them to turn into cat's whiskers, and, to his horror, he found himself battling within seconds for control over his emotions- but, laughter won out, and he cursed his sporadic burst of gaiety. Although he covered his mouth with his hand, Snape looked angrier than ever.

"Would you care to enumerate what you find to be so endearing about this unfortunate situation, Potter?" he enumerated silkily. "Or should we just assume that you are such a conceited arrogant-minded fool that you have no tolerance for the meticulous efforts enforced upon everyone, to protect your precious hide?" Harry was quiet. Snape deadpanned, dark, unsettling holes boring straight into his own eyes, "even I thought that you, Mr. Potter, would have more generosity than this. Have you no care for the actions that everyone is taking to secure you from the Dark Lord's wrath? Even for those of your friends?" He gave Harry a look of pure disgust, and then strode away into the house, the tips of his velvet clothing tickling the ends of the threshold, wavering there, for an instant- Harry watched them fly behind him without really seeing them.

For the rest of the day, he stayed outside of the cabin, not really doing much of anything, while he walked around the enclosure occasionally, making a pretense of checking out Hermione's vegetable gardens. He found that he did not have any energy to speak with his friends, even though he knew that his time would be better spent helping Hermione with her research. For some reason though, he couldn't help but to wonder what point there was exactly to assisting with anything at the moment. He felt nothing at all, for a terrible, hallow emptiness had overtaken his breast and left him with a surge of air, so that he walked upon a great, buoyant bubble. Harry really had no energy to do anything else, so he wandered about outside aimlessly, without reason nor purpose, eventually sitting back down behind the cabin to slid down into the grass once more and watch the sunset. He had never really noticed until this point how the vermillion colors of the unique hues mixed together on the sun's bed, nor watched it sink- interesting bit of nature, really . . .

He never even chanced to look up when the trod of a pair of boots over the grass should have alerted him to a dark omen, but, when he looked up at Snape, it was like he wasn't really seeing him, like he wasn't even an existence that lived.

Harry blinked owlishly up at him, twice, uncomprehending. Snape's face was creased into the folds of a very familiar sneer, but he paid it no mind, and simply brushed away the grass that had somehow become strewn over his pant-leg.

"Potter." The Potions Master spoke in a lowered tone of voice, which wafted across the grounds as silkily as a spider weaves its web through the trees within a dewy morn. Harry said nothing. To talk would only be to propagate the matter, he felt . . . he bit the inside of his cheek and tried to hold his tongue inside his mouth. Talking would not be truly convenient.

"Potter," Snape repeated, his voice laced with impatience. Harry simply turned his head away from him. He heard the crunch of steel edges as the venomous black boots rose and fell, coming closer. "Come inside the cabin this instant. As much as it would pleasure me to see you in some type of bravery act that would surely display to the entire world your strength, the headmaster would surely discover my ah . . . fallacy," he said the word slowly, as though savoring it for some strange reason. Still Harry would not budge.

"Potter!" he said, sounding furious- slowly, he turned to look up at his professor, his eyes empty and vacant beneath the fringe of his ever wanton and incorrigible hair. Snape's eyes narrowed at him.

"I don't know what game you are playing," he said in a low hiss, "but you will come into the house at this moment, unless you wish to suffer severe consequences." The disgust revolving in Snape's dark eyes mirrored something that Harry felt within himself, that must have been trying to break free for longer than he might have wished. Silently, he turned his head away from Snape again, furious with himself, and an odd feeling came over him then, much to his horror. His body began to tremble slightly and he held himself tightly, utterly humiliated at his bodily reaction- he didn't even understand it. He swallowed harshly a few times and tried to steady his breathing. He couldn't move, not now. The grass moved again, and the front of black boots stirred his gaze. Harry felt as though he were looking at them through a magical shimmer. Then, without warning, he felt a hard grip, but he hardly took any notice of it. And suddenly he was being ripped from his seat on the ground and into the air-

"I told the headmaster all along that you wouldn't listen," he sneered, oblivious to Harry's change of mood. "Why he ever used the spell I cannot fathom. Apparently your status as the golden head of your makeshift trio is sorely misplaced. How dare you sit there and wallow in misery, after what everyone has done for you?" he spat at him. At that, Harry yanked his arm away- hard. Snape tumbled away from him, catching himself at the wall's edge, glancing at him with a cursory trace of surprise. It quickly vanished.

"You- none of you understand." To his utter humiliation, he found that his voice was trembling, and in front of Snape, his most hated professor at Hogwarts. He tried to take a couple of calming breaths. He glanced quickly away from him. He did not want to be underneath Snape's scrutiny, not then, not at that moment. "All of this is my fault. I put my friends in immediate danger underneath Lord Voldemort's- "

"Do not say the Dark Lord's name!" Snape spat out, looking purple tinged in the lips- Harry had a feeling that he was actually about to explode through one of his blood vessels. He gritted his teeth to keep himself from replying.

"I put them in his circle," he continued, "I- " He pointed a finger to his chest, "I endangered everyone. Those who are around me, assisting me, or become part of my life in some way- something always seems to happen to them." He swallowed a rock in his throat, completely ignoring the fact that the ridges of his eyes were wet. He felt as though he were on the great precipice of something that was so terrible, he did not want to name it. Whatever it was, was squeezing his chest like in a rigid vice-like grip so hard that he felt as though the breath would leave him forever, within moments.

"My mother died to save me," he said in a hoarse voice barely above a whisper. "And I repaid her sacrifice by placing the only family I have ever had in the same line of danger." His body seemed to sag like a bag filled only with some kind of jelly bought at a muggle grocery store, leaving him with the same dead hole, the black, yawning cavern that earlier had given him cause for a nonexistent trance. Now though, it was almost too black for him to enter, and he found his feelings pouring from him in the most undignified, embarrassing manner. He was more alive than he had ever felt in his life, and, just like that, the wind seemed to leave him. He turned his face to the wall, trying to hide the fact that his shoulders were shuddering.

Snape had not moved since Harry had last spoken. Harry felt a raw, cutting sensation taking over him from the mere fact that he was engaging in mortifying contretemps, and whatever it was that threatened to leave him feeling despair and emptiness. He covered his face with his hands, hoping against hope that the Potions Master would leave him in peace and re-enter the cabin. He attempted to stop the tears, but he could not. Something inside him had ripped open, even though he felt completely unprepared for it. And, as though from a distant land, another, silkier voice laden with the gravity of a matured demon that who lived a life of trials and strength, it seemed, drifted over to him.

"Potter- your- your mother protected you of her own accord." Harry nodded into his hands, feeling some of the redness fade from his face, listening with bated breath to what he really could not decipher, feeling the tension begin to leave him.

"Lily- Lily never stopped to ask anyone's permission. If she had, I- " And suddenly Snape stopped, causing Harry to, with a jolt, remember something. Slowly he turned around, struck by the slight change in Snape's voice and in his demeanor. Through the bleak expanse that stretched between them, he could not help but to notice that the line's in Snape's face were deep and harshly etched. Why this should strike him now was funny. Yet, just like the flaw in an eagle that has fought for prey its entire life through the untamed wilderness, the Potions Master had not lived a life of kindness. And yet, Harry thought vaguely, trying to clear his mind of the oppressive confusion in it, there was something different about the intricate designs in it, as though it were an ancient map that offered something like- he couldn't put his finger upon it. Knowledge? Wisdom? _Perhaps that's going too far,_ he thought. Snape's black eyes were continuing to bore into him, like a tunnel, albeit strangely now, and something else dimmed his shadowed features even further than before. In what way exactly he couldn't say.

"Sir?" he questioned hastily, his curiosity getting the better of him, an image of the photo he had found in Snape's abode looming up in front of him before he could stop it. "Did you know my mother?" he asked in a rush, hoping against hope that Snape would grace him with an answer. His black eyes were focused on something that he could not see.

"She never wanted to undergo the horrors that she went through with James, I am sure of it," he said, speaking almost to himself, his black hair shading his face. Harry tried to see past the curtain. He felt somehow desperate, even though he could not break down the feeling, scrabbling for something. He bit his tongue incomprehensibly. Snape stood as still as a statue, his head hanging slightly in a curvature. Harry wanted to do anything, say anything, to compel Snape to talk. Still he just stood there.

"Were you and my mother friends?" he asked him, almost afraid to hear the answer. The Potions Master pulled his hand from his robe pocket and withdrew his wand, although Harry somehow knew that he did not purpose to use it. He simply fingered it with a shrewd delicacy that seemed unlikely. Then his eyes cut straight through Harry like a knife.

"Your interest in this matter is unwarranted." Harry tried not to focus on the hollow feeling still lingering in his chest. Snape took a step forward, his look changing- albeit minutely. He lifted his hand out, but it was not the one holding the wand. He gave him an odd look, which made Harry again compare him subconsciously to an eagle. A look of prey intermingled with one of deep contemplation, although it was gone after a mere second. Snape's hand felt to the side, as he stopped moving.

"You will only endanger those whom you care for further if you linger outside for longer periods than necessary." With a sudden jolt, he realized that his face was still wet with tear tracks, and he quickly lifted a hand and swiped it across his cheek, trying to repress a surge of anger. He expected Snape to jeer at him, or to nastily enquire about it, at the very least, but it seemed that his repulsion was unwarranted, at least for the moment. He turned on his heel swiftly, beckoning to him with a long, pointed, elegant thin finger. Staring hard at the Potion Master's retreating back, he shrugged inelegantly to himself, wondering where that term had even come from. He blinked a couple of times once more, and then followed in Snape's wake. He felt confused and a little wayward, still, at this moment, and was not sure that he trusted his voice. The hallow feeling was beginning to subside-

"Sir?" he questioned. But, before he could retrieve an answer, Snape had vanished into the cabin, although Harry still stood outside. He stepped away from the door about an inch. What was it about that conversation that was nagging at him? He rubbed at his raw, undoubtedly stained face again absently. He had the potent feeling that Snape had somehow thwarted a deeply illustrative subject, and that he was- perhaps, not the greasy git that Ron depicted him to be after all. He felt absolutely shell-shocked. Slowly, he moved his hand into his pocket in order to remove the picture, and gazed at his without a light, surreptitiously. His eyes bored into it like sap falling in thick red strings into the frame- even if sap was not red. He stopped. He wouldn't look at this now. He couldn't. He stared at the closed door for a moment. Then he shrugged, making a noncommittal noise to himself. He walked in after Snape.

Ron and Hermione were still scouring over books before the fireplace, although Ron seemed to have lost some interest in the activity as per usual, in order to engage in activities that were more interesting. Harry pulled a disgusted face at the cabbage head scattered in tiny leaves haphazardly over his lap.

"Harry, oh, there you are!" Hermione said brightly- a little too brightly, Harry thought- her eyes lighting up at the sight of him. "I was just reading through this marvelous rendition of-" But he put up a hand hastily, attempting to stall her.

"Have you seen Snape?" he questioned, trying to sound nonchalant.

"Snape?" she questioned. He looked at Ron and noticed that he was staring at him.

"What do you need to speak with Professor Snape about, Harry?" Hermione asked, recovering quickly. And then, not waiting for an answer, she promptly added, "He's in the kitchen." He shot her a grateful smile, and then, not glancing at either of them, he walked purposefully into the kitchen, his head bowed slightly. He could hear the two of them muttering in hushed voices behind his back but he did his best to ignore their meaning. He pushed open the door to the kitchen with a pretense of distraction, and strode over to the round table. He watched the Potions Professor sipping from a porcelain cup of black tea for a minute, disregarding the scowl that, he was sure, had just suddenly appeared. He thrust his hand into his pocket, and pulled out the picture . . .


	21. Tea and the Potions Master

_**A special thanks goes out to: **__**geetac, oncecelestialbeing, Zireael07, Alexandra, and hazeldragon **__**for their reviews on the last chapter. **_

_**A/N: **_

**Okay, I just read through a few of the reviews that I have received, and felt compelled to write out a more detailed explanation to you. In spite of the fact that I have stated in previous author's notes the exact liberties that I am taking, I have a few readers that are still confused. Respectfully, therefore, I want to clarify the fact that this story is not consistent with all facts from the original series. There are many details in this that are different from those in the original. That means that you will find certain elements- such as Harry's meager knowledge of Occlumency before his second year, contrasted against what Harry knew in JKR's version. Some of the changes are written for the sake of convenience, and some for other purposes. The important point that everyone must be aware of, is that the elements are different, and I am taking an author's liberties on this matter. If this offends anyone reading, then, respectfully, please move on.**

**I do not mean to reprimand anyone, but I also need you to know that I cannot adequately respond to reviews that are not specific in their inquiries. Likewise, it is not always plausible to craft appropriate responses to those that sign in as guests. Sign in if you need me to respond, or at least PM me. And please be succinct in your questions. If you just tell me that you are confused, the statement is too broad for me to address.**

**And, now that that's over with . . . **

**On to the story!**

* * *

**My Cat My Potions Master ~ **

_**Tea and the Potions Master -**_

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Snape's eyes widened infinitesimally, and his jaw moved just a fraction. The silence in the air was so dense that it could have been deemed opaque, if it could have been envisioned . . . but Harry could no more see the air than he could view what those dark, fathomless eyes held. He had no thought as to what Snape might have been thinking. The stirrings behind his shades were almost foreign, as though the potions master were looking into him through a history textbook, tinged with a measure of unfamiliarity. He could not say one word. Soon however, this became unnecessary, for Snape stood up, with a ferocity that would have belied the cool, inner water of his deeply-granite colored eyes.

Harry could feel himself cringe, involuntarily, but was hardly aware of the movement. He stepped back, while Snape simply stared at him for a time, rock-like. He didn't know what he was expecting, honestly had no idea as to the next development, but he felt sure that what happened was a complete contradiction to his instinct. To his shock, Snape placed a long, elegant hand over the photo, ran a finger over it, once, and then- his fingers clenched around it- he swept it off the table with a smooth gesture, before pocketing it.

He felt a torrent of fear vitalize him, although he could not depict anything save for sheer misunderstanding, a solid uncertainty that seemed to comprise the potions master. There was so much that he needed to wanted to ask Snape, for all of the questions were flooding back, but how could he? He would always deny this. Now, at this particular moment, he felt his throat start to close. He felt some kind of a connection to the potions master, although he was unaware of exactly what it was in Snape's character that had driven him to this understanding breaching the gap between them. Harry opened and closed his mouth. He didn't understand what was happening to them.

"How dare you steal this from me?" Harry looked at him with something that was akin to disbelief. He kept his jaw locked tightly and did not move any part of his body. His heart was pumping through his chest wildly, although he did not know what it was he truly feared. He stared down at his hands, which were spread out in front of him, examining them carefully- they looked like pale ghosts.

A vein was throbbing underneath Snape's neck that was in appearance ten times more manifold in thickness than the skin in that area. Harry could practically touch the heat emanating from the potions master, but his own hands were finely interesting in this moment as they became sweat-saturated, and the veins creased over the pale bodies of these spiders. They-

"Answer me, Potter." A crash sounded. Snape did not measure a glance in the direction of Lucius Malfoy's semi-conscious brother, instead focusing directly upon the sight in front of him, his eyes cold granite chunks drilling through him. Harry felt slightly sick, as his stomach suddenly clenched. Regardless of the fact that he surpassed every instinct that festered inside of him, he gritted his teeth forcefully, looking up, directly at the Potions Master, and returned his leveling gaze.

"Why don't you explain what you are doing standing next to my mum?" He shot, ignoring the fact that his glasses fell in a lopsided arc down his nose. He held his arms down at his sides with his hands creased, and his body shook out of both fear and fury simultaneously. He could feel his arms slightly trembling. He watched as slowly Snape closed his eyes, momentarily. Rock-like, he stood stoic in a dangerous onyx cut, from an arcing precipice that overlooked dangerous waters. He turned his face away from Harry abruptly, so that all he could view from this perspective was an ingrained profile of chiseled features that very well could have been made from stone. Snape's hair fell over his face. He said nothing to him.

Harry's breathing was labored. He knew that mere words could not evict this feeling. Whatever spell had been cast between him and the Potions Master was irrevocable, cutting, cruel, and deep. Yet he somehow knew that it was this thread of magic which now forced the questions from him that he might never have asked him otherwise, albeit that he may have been confused about its nature. Strangely, he didn't move from his place. His fear of Snape was starting to dissipate . . . he had no idea why . . . rather, he took a step forward.

"Potter." The tone was low and disgust-imbibed, causing Harry to scowl fiercely at Snape, hating him, yet nonetheless moving towards him. Snape turned again. Their eyes met swiftly.

"You are not entitled to this information," he hissed at him, and, oddly enough, Harry found that he knew this was true, despite his anger. He just couldn't bring himself to care. The very notion that Snape had been avid friends with his mum was morbidly shocking to him, and he wanted to deny it with every fiber of his being.

"I know," he answered, and then he paused. "Professor?" he asked, needing to hear confirmation to his terrible thoughts, which had been plaguing his brain for several days. "Did you- that is- " he stopped again, clearing his throat. "Did you and my mother become more than just friends?" he asked him, hoarsely. Snape's eyes narrowed at him, as his mouth thinned out dangerously like a widening chasm.

"You are as arrogant as James Potter," he spat with pure loathing washing over his face. Harry did take a step back now. "To presume- how dare you think that- " The churning melee within his gut became more ferocious while Snape alighted with a demonic glow that raced throughout his entire person. Not being able to help himself, he finally took a step back.

"That's why you hate me, isn't it?" he asked in a low whisper. "Because . . . you loved- " The glow within Snape's face wavered, and then died. Harry swallowed. The robes swished before him. He was barely able to register Snape's movements. He walked slowly, almost precariously, over to the table, as though he was afraid his precious, fine bones would break. The Earth would shatter. The Potions Master stared directly down into the mahogany wood table, for once, Harry envisioned, fathoming over all of the delicate instruments used in a fragile potion perhaps, rather than deviating his own destruction.

"How do you know?" Snape whispered at last, his tone sickly, jerky. "How could you possibly be under any type of impression- " Harry's eyes narrowed, almost in confusion. He cursorily looked at the picture, which was still gripped within Snape's hands betwixt white knuckles.

"How do I know?" He repeated, blankly. Snape raised his head, the pale window of his face almost sickly in its complexion, black curtains swathing the sides in deep, enigmatic darkness.

"You are daft, Potter," he said at last, crassly, and Harry's jaw fell slack.

"You're denying that you and my mum were friends?" he asked him, now sounding unsure, himself. But, silently, as though he had honed the craft, Snape's long, vibrant arms rove up towards his face, like as if he were brewing a potion, subtle, and _alive_. He masked his face with hands that just barely touched it-

"I need a cup of tea," he muttered, voice filled with a deep repulsion. Harry was still staring at him oddly. But then, as though he could not attempt to dissuade himself from it, he moved slowly and precisely towards the kettle on the stove. He hated doing this, but if assisting Snape was a necessity, at least he was accustomed to this type of occupation. After living for several years at the residence of the Dursleys, he had become an appointed expert at taking domestic responsibility. He couldn't talk himself out of the action, much as he didn't want to re-live any portion of that life.

"You are accustomed to doing domestic chores," Snape observed, with a faint trace of cruelty lacing his tone, although the tone was somewhat enigmatic- there was something else in it that he couldn't quite identify.

"My relatives are very- erm- precise about the type of work they feel is important for me to learn," Harry said, with a trace of sarcasm that he hoped would allow him to dismiss the topic. He wasn't keen on having this conversation with Snape.

"Ah, yes," Snape said quietly, almost to himself, "the Golden Boy's relatives are maintaining his brilliancy in all areas, no doubt." Harry turned. His hands were gripping the counter behind him fiercely. He attempted to level out his breathing, as it was harsh.

"Don't pretend that you know what my life is like," he said quietly, fury lacing through his veins once again. Perhaps, he wouldn't retrieve his tea after all . . . the man could get it himself. Snape's lips drew into a thin, tight line. He moved his hands away from his face in a methodical manner.

"Ahhh . . . and is there any particular reason that you are so interested in discussing them, Potter?" Now Harry was befuddled. He could not allow Snape to see that he was caught for reason, though, as rhyme and riddled tongues, or rational puzzles held no interest for him. He continued making the tea silently, biting his lip to keep from talking.

"I'm not," he said shortly.

"Oh, but I think you are," Snape replied softly. "What is it about your relatives, Potter, that makes you so eager to discuss them, mere muggles with those from our world? Is it that their charms are so suitable for magical persons that you feel inclined to share portions of your life? Or could it be . . . just the opposite." He knew. There was no question of the fact that Snape, with his shrewd mind and rapid calculations, had guessed the truth about Harry's life. He knew that it was not everything it seemed . . . he took a deep breath, and gripped the tea kettle tightly. He forced himself not to turn, and reveal to Snape what he had already concluded.

"Why don't you tell me something about your life at home? You are no doubt dying to share this." Harry bit his lip harder.

"I don't want to share anything with you," he forced out. The tension in the room was growing, as suddenly Snape stood up. He drew close behind Harry, and Harry could feel the slink of an unearthly shadow stalk him as he watched it grow in the weak kitchen lighting.

"I know that not everything is as you allow everyone to understand, Potter, and you know what I think? I think that you have poor excuses for relations. More poor than most people within the muggle world can boast?" Harry let out a harsh laugh, somewhat unwillingly.

"Yeah, well I can't disagree with that, sir," he said bluntly, his voice crude. He nearly smiled to himself. After a moment, he added, "guess I'm not the only one that's been keeping secrets." Snape scowled blackly at him, before moving back towards the table, his face hollowed in the gloomy light.

"Here's your tea, sir," he said after a moment, bearing the silver tray. Snape scowled again.

"Set it down there, Potter." Harry seated himself across from the potions master, now attempting to ignore the illicit display sprawled revoltingly across from him at the other end of the kitchen.

"How long should you leave him like that?"

"Do not attempt to tell me what I cannot do, Potter!" he spat.

"Sorry," Harry answered him back, quite rudely. "But this is my kitchen too . . at least, erm, at this certain moment," he amended, his voice trailing away hastily as Snape opened his mouth in a reply to that comment, reminding him that he was in the error, here.

"He will stay like that," he finally responded, his tone laced with deep loathing, and some amount of irritation, "until I deem it necessary for him to become part of our world once again." At the look on Snape's face though, Harry could not help but to think dubiously that such an occurrence might never be a development. He said nothing to this, though.

"Where did you attain this picture, Potter?" Snape asked him, making Harry's heart pause- and then start to rapidly beat furiously once again. He ducked his head to the side, mumbling sheepishly into the kitchen linoleum.

"I was searching through the extra boxes that you had displayed about in your living room, sir," he said, sounding deliberately astute. Snape caught his double meaning, and his black eyes flashed angrily. He was quiet though, for a minute.

"So you decided that you would take it upon yourself to scour my personal belongings for interesting objects that would suit your needs. How charming, Potter, and in direct conjunction with you elegant and consuming personality." Harry's face heated up quickly turning a deep, dark shade of red. What was worse, though, was that he couldn't very well argue with Snape, considering the fact that he _had_ looked into this things without his permission. For some, unfathomable reason, he stayed rooted to his spot, sipping his own cup of tea in time with the potions master, listening to the significant glasses clink. The sounds were ingratiating, and somewhat humorous, because admittedly, he never thought that he would live through this moment. Taking tea with Snape was an improbable thought at best. Suddenly he couldn't help himself, as he felt an overwhelming surge of devious hilarity course through his veins.

"Sir, how do you usually like your tea?" Snape paused, the cup halfway to his lips, and Harry immediately smelt danger. He recklessly poured through, however, both literally and figuratively, it seemed- "I was just curious, because I didn't reckon you to be much of a tea person." Just then the door opened, and Harry was saved the reciprocation to that statement. Ron came in looking lackadaisical, his hair mussed, as though he had just awoken, his gaze landing upon him rather than Snape at first. He chortled towards no one in particular.

"Think he takes it with sugar. Snape could probably use some sweetening, eh?" Harry let out a short laugh.

"Another word, Weasely, and you'll regret that you were ever born into that rat-hole filled with dunderheads of the same class as you," Snape growled, and Ron stifled his laughter. Harry, though, didn't quite understand why Snape had not pursued that line of thought, and was opting rather to continue sipping his tea quietly. He looked at him more closely. Snape did look a bit tired, come to think of it. He waved a hand at Ron.

"That's enough, Ron." Snape's eyes widened marginally at this indication, but he said nothing to Harry. Harry nodded his head slightly.

"I think that Hermione wanted us to document the available food in the vegetable patch," he added in a softer tone, his words directed at his friend. "Would you mind going to take a look?" Ron shrugged.

"Yeah, sure, okay . . . why not?"

"Thanks," Harry muttered. As he stepped over one gangly, spidery pale arm on the way over to the door, Snape set down his glass and gave him the most curious look that he had ever seen. A dark tongue darted between his white lips. He seemed to be contemplating something.

"You are not as fluently read as some people are, Potter." Harry blinked a few times. He did not know what that meant. The shadows beneath Snape's eyes sagged over his skin like elongated folds that were pouring with malice throughout his face. Harry was somewhat surprised by this. It suddenly occurred to him that enveloping a cat's persona, temperament, and physical body every few days must be exceedingly tiresome. He felt an odd, unexpected surge of gratitude towards the man in front of him. Noticing that Snape had finished his cup, he began to place the porcelain back onto its vintage, albeit unmatched set, ignoring the ferocity of Snape's gaze.

"You should probably get some rest, sir," he muttered. He didn't know why he had said that. The words had slipped out before he could stop them. He chanced a covert glance behind himself. If he was not much mistaken- for a moment, just a mere moment he saw Snape's eyes widen in surprise, and the curious look that he was providing transform into something more like . . . gratitude. Suddenly Harry remembered the events of earlier that night in which he had fully and utterly humiliated himself, and felt a sweeping wash over him of pure shame. He heard the chair move back, as Snape stood up heavily, he sharp boots gracing the floor.

"You are- surprising, Mr. Potter." Harry looked around at him, meeting his eyes, and the movement almost felt too quick. "In some regards, Lily Evans is perhaps, your mother." A soft chuckle almost escaped him, but he found that he did not know how to react. No doubt that Severus Snape was addled, to some extent, by fatigue- although, Harry had to admit to his uncanny sharpness. Snape was like a smooth needle make from fibers that were bred from something stronger. Or, perhaps a bitter wine . . .

Harry laughed harshly, the sound throwing him by surprise. Snape's eyes widened as well, and he shook his head back and fro, as though he were jerking away from him a fly. He swept towards the door with a heavy, dense grace, which seemed contradictory of itself . . . turning, just as he reached the knob, his bony hand held over it. His eyes narrowed upon Harry once again, leveling him with a deep, but calculating stare. They stood there for a moment, tied by something that neither of them appeared to understand. Then he left in a black swish, leaving Harry to stare at the floor where . . . he'd allowed the picture to drop, in the same room with him. Harry went over to it, picked it up, and ran a hand over it gently- his fingers closed around it warmly, and something that he couldn't identify coursed through his breast.

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**Cookies please! =) =) =)**


	22. The Vilest Man At Hogwarts

**{**_**Disclaimer:**_** Please note that all original depictions are the rights of JKR, and that I have no management over anything that she created}.**

_**A/N:**_** I hope that you enjoy this chapter. A special thanks to those who have reviewed. Please remember that if you review the chapter prior to the one being currently posted, I will provide public recognition of you at the top of the following chapter segment. I appreciate all reviews, and am always happy to bring attention to readers, and their own stories of course, that take the time to send them to me.**

**A couple of quick details:**

**Please remember that certain events and aspects of the original Harry Potter series are different in this story. Some examples are: the time at which Harry learns of Occlumency (a brief mentioning in an earlier chapter indicates his knowledge of the skill), knowledge of House Elves and the time during which Hermione gains ownership of Crookshanks, and Lucius Malfoy's fictionalized brother, Abraxus.**

**I am taking liberties as a fan fiction author of my own Harry Potter story that I use to my advantage- this means, in short, that there will be discrepancies between this piece and the original series. This is done for the sake of creativity and convenience, which I personally feel will contribute to the overall benefit of the plotline. ****Please do not take offense at this. If anyone has questions all you need do is send me a quick PM. I am happy to provide clarification of all matters on which you are confused. **

**Name of the turning Snape into the form of a cat: **_**Invectus Septimum**_

**And now, on to the story . . .**

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**Chapter 22-**

_**The Vilest Man at Hogwarts ~**_

Harry had not wanted to learn anything that Snape forced him to learn in his first year of Hogwarts and he had undoubtedly despised potions. But he always remembered the first class session as though it had taken place the previous afternoon, because Professor Snape was a, shall he say, more than memorable person at Hogwarts. When he rose before him, inundated with shrouds of blackness, there was very little that Harry could actually do save to look directly into his cold eyes and swallow, with a typical sickening feeling that plundered to the pit of his stomach. Yet regardless, understanding so little about the subject of potions, no matter that it was primarily due to his muggle background and utter repulse that the Dursleys held for anything that stemmed from magic, provided Snape immense glee. It struck him, therefore, that in light of the situation, perhaps a small part of Snape's excessive foulness was due in part to the fact that he had not the opportunity to belittle Harry without due cause, of late. Maybe there was a way to remedy that.

Therefore he decided that, perhaps it was not actually bad idea to give Snape a _reason_ to mock him. When he told Ron about this sketchy, he thought it was ludicrous, but the truth was, that he had been thinking about a tentative plan for several days now. Hermione seemed to mull over what Harry said thoughtfully for a few moments though, rather than responding at once. They were sitting in their usual places before the fire, which they hardly left now, because Snape had recently taken a rather unseemly interest in prowling the kitchen and the perimeter directly lining the cabin. There was no apparent purpose to this habit save for, Harry could only deduce, a comfortable familiarity that suited him at Hogwarts.

"He does it so often," Ron remarked once, "that I think he really just enjoys it. It's kind of like a hobby to him, save for he likes to prowl in a bat-like fashion every day rather than watch the Chudley Cannons, you know? I mean, it's not really that difficult to understand. What else does he have to do with his time? It must get awful mundane sitting around the dungeons all day after giving everybody a failing grade. Even Snape must get bored sometimes, I suppose."

Harry was now compelled to think that Ron was correct in his assumption, much as the idea surprised him, because Snape now prowled everyday in a prolific fashion, almost as though there was an art to it that none of them understood. He was distant and detached when they saw him, which was typically only for moments, as he went to the kitchen for a cup of tea, or moved through the living room in order to reach the front door. It was making him a little nervous. He wondered if perhaps this noticeable change in Snape's attitude, and his out-of-character trait, had become a temporary transformation evoked by the Professor Dumbledore upon him. He would have even been inclined to ask Snape, had the Potions Master not been so avoidable recently. He walked irately, full of passion, and fire, as though there was an adrenaline coursing through him foreign, in its substance perhaps to Snape. It was, overall, unnerving.

"I do not necessarily condone the idea, Harry, but I can't honestly tell you that I am actually against it." Harry looked at Ron quickly, who in turn looked back down at his careworn and shabby armrest.

"Does that mean that you think- you think I might be able to catch Snape's attention, in order to gain information from him?" Harry asked her quickly. He felt a feeling of dread pool in his stomach that seemed rather contradictory to his desire to evoke a reaction from Snape through forcing him to belittle himself. Perhaps, after all though, it was not such a spectacular idea . . .

"Well," Hermione worried her lip with her teeth as she continued, "I'm not saying that it's a good idea for you to provoke him necessarily, Harry, and I must confess that I do think forcing him to become angry with you is a rather vulgar way of making him answer your questions. On the other hand, I'll admit that I would like to know what he spoke about with Professor Dumbledore, and if you think that angering him- well, it's a stupid idea, there's no doubt about that, but I won't argue with the fact that he does seem enjoy taunting you, um, a bit . . . " And here she looked at him apologetically. But Harry was not deterred by her statement.

"Exactly," he put in, without any scruple. "And if I'm able to get him to react, then maybe he'll be provoked to share some of that information with us. It can't hurt to try. And, come to think of it, maybe we can do something with Malfoy at the same time," he added thoughtfully, as he trailed off.

"What do you mean?" She asked him, now looking honestly a bit confused. "How would making Professor Snape angry connect with Mr. Malfoy's dilemma?" Harry glanced at Ron, who stared back at him mutely. He lowered his tone, and leaned in closer to both of them.

"Look," he said slowly, splaying his hands, as he gave Hermione a sharp glance, "I know that we don't have all of the details . . . "

"You're right, Harry. We don't," Hermione quickly put in, cutting him off, but he held up a hand to stop her.

"But we do have a few key facts." He gave her a hard stare, which caused her to close her mouth, although she was obviously reluctant. "We know that Malfoy was most likely sent by one of Lord Voldemort's followers, if not by Voldemort himself," he continued, ignoring Ron's involuntary shudders that the name caused, and every sign of interruption that was being displayed in the most tactile fashion from his other friend. "The circumstances are too suspicious for us to assume that he just came on his own," he continued. "And the fact that he showed up at Snape's house, while Snape himself was prowling around as a cat is too much of a coincidence . . . add that to the fact that I was staying at his house at the time and, well, it's nearly impossible to come to any other conclusion." Here Ron gave a slight snort at his original explanation, while Hermione rapidly shot,

"But Harry, Abraxus Malfoy is _not _Lucius Malfoy, or even Draco Malfoy, for that matter. He's very _different_ from both of them," she said, placing extra stress upon the word 'different.' Has it ever occurred to you that he may have been sent by someone who simply wanted to force you into a false sense of alarm? Harry," she said more loudly, as he attempted to interrupt, making him quiet, and now her voice grew stern, "What if this was all a rouse in order to get you and Professor Snape to leave his house? Perhaps someone wanted to get you out so that they could search his place for- oh, I don't know- for- to get- " Harry was beginning to grow irritated.

"To what?" he asked her. "What exactly is it you think that someone would want to take from Snape's house?" He couldn't understand what she was on about. Hermione's face was starting to grow flush, and she seemed to be having an internal battle with herself.

"I- that is I-" Ron was now looking at her as though she had grown tentacles out of her ears as well as Harry. "I heard something the other day, okay!" she blurted, at last, placing her hands on her knees and tightly gripping her jeans. "I thought I heard Professor Snape- " Harry leaned closer to her, suddenly eager.

"What was it that you thought you heard?" he asked her quickly, in a quiet tone. She was wringing her hands, gripping each one of her fingers tightly. "Well, I know that I probably shouldn't have, but the other day, when he broke the spell that I had been struggling to remove all summer, I asked Professor Snape about Abraxus Malfoy."

"What did he say?" Ron cut in, sounding somewhat enthused by what Harry supposed to be, her bold willingness to broach the subject to Snape.

"Well, nothing of course," she said, waving one of her hands to the side. "He told me I would do better to ask someone that was actually interested in the facts, because he couldn't care less, like, erm . . . one of you guys," she finished, her face growing steadily pink, and Harry snorted. He could only imagine how Snape had really referred to him and Ron.

"So, of course I didn't say anything else on the matter. After all, he had just removed an extremely difficult spell that I had been unable to break the entire summer, and I didn't want to annoy him . . . after he had finished, he went outside, to get a breath of fresh air, I imagine, and I became busy with some of my summer reading material. After about ten minutes or so, however, I- I started to crave some fresh air as well." She turned red again, although Harry couldn't understand the reason for her embarrassment this time. "So I followed the same direction Snape had taken, though unintentionally of course. I decided to check on our vegetable patch, so I went towards the opposite side of the cabin. And that's when I heard him talking, and I stopped. I thought at first that he was speaking to someone else, but as it turns out, he was muttering to himself, quietly. I don't think that he even heard me approach. He said something about Lucius Malfoy and his cursed schemes, and spoke of a method that he tended to favor, when dealing with those who had fallen out of his favor. I'm not sure, but I think he was speaking about Abraxus," she said then, looking pensive. Harry glanced over at Ron. He wasn't completely sure that he understood the situation. He thought for a minute, and then asked, slowly,

"But Hermione . . . he didn't catch you at it, right? He didn't _see_ you listening to him?"

"No," she said quickly, while she continued to wring her hands. "Of course not," she added, her words coming out somewhat defensively. Harry held his hands out.

"Okay, I was just checking. Then you didn't speak to him about it?" he asked her, after a minute, unable to hide the slight eagerness that was now beginning to creep into his voice. "Ask him any questions about it?" Hermione shot him a cursory, shrewd look. She observed him calculatingly. Then,

"Of course not," she reprimanded him, quite primly, smoothing her skirt a little before folding her hands across her lap. Ron rolled his eyes at him, but Harry ignored him.

"I think that we need to speak with Snape then," he said, abruptly, his voice business-like, standing up. Ron opened and closed his mouth uncertainly, staring at him, but Hermione, to his surprise, loudly chastised,

"Harry James Potter! I just knew that you would pull something like this! That is why I didn't want to say anything to you in the first place," she said, almost sorrowfully, biting her lip in a fretful gesture, but then her eyes snapped over to his angrily once again. Harry just stared at her, opening and closing his mouth uncertainly.

"Why shouldn't I talk to him?" He asked her slowly, looking over to Ron for moral support, not really understanding what he had done to merit this type of extreme response from her.

"Well, there's no doubt that it's a bit of a barmy idea, but I don't think that Snape's going to hex Harry into oblivion or anything," he said candidly, answering Harry's silent request. He was looking at Hermione levelly, cocking his head as he considered her carefully. Her cheeks started to heat up, and, in an act that was quite out of character, in Harry's mind, she got up and left, leaving him and Ron completely bereft. A minute later she closed the door to the kitchen, and they heard a resounding vibe as the lock clicked. He merely sat there, stunned, while Ron scratched the back of his neck and remarked,

"I think that spell wrought more, at least, in emotional damage than she knows."

Harry silently had to agree with him.

By the time Harry went outside, the sky had darkened to a sheer, solid black wall of torrential rain, and he could hardly see anything through the thick sheets slashing in front of him. He ultimately hovered underneath the stunted roof thoughtlessly, paying little attention to the fact that his shoes were getting wet due to the puddles spreading upon the stone terraces circling the cabin. He watched the raindrops splatter across his glasses, not paying any mind to it. He couldn't imagine what would prompt Snape to keep guard outside at this time of night, but there was no doubt that he was moving in the direction of the front door, completing a self-defined pathway. Harry watched quietly from his station, until finally, Snape stepped into the weak glow of a muttered _lumos. _He stepped out from his shelter and deliberately took three or four steps forward, until he was directly within the sphere of protection that encased the Potions Master. Fury lit his face immediately upon seeing him.

"Potter!" he snarled. Harry walked up to him cautiously, and suddenly, caught by a whim that he really couldn't define, grinned in a quick, perky, flitting kind of move, that rapidly died from his face.

Snape's glower was illuminating the entire sphere that his light filled, as though it was itself caught by the wand-light, making Harry look down at his feet somewhat uneasily. He could detect a trace of uneasy tension that created a really inconvenient amount of friction, considering the circumstance, and he found himself huffing quietly. For some reason he found himself annoyed with the Potions Master, for perhaps the first time that he could remember. How was he to ask his questions freely if Snape kept up this attitude? He shook his head to himself then. This situation must have been getting to him. At that point he saw thunder flash off in the distance, and realized that, after all, this may not have been the most suitable place to have this discussion . . .

Snape glanced up at the sky behind them and his snarl grew deeper. Without wasting a moment, he rapidly turned on his heel and swept up to the door, moving past Harry. As he felt the edge of his shirt begin to get soaked, Harry hurried after him, shutting the door tightly against the onslaught once he gained entry. He leaned against the door for a minute, panting. As he looked around, he realized that they were for the moment, alone. The cushions had been swept to the side of the typical arrangement of throws, pillows and chairs that were placed in a perpetual circle around a campfire which they appeared to no longer need. Harry found himself looking quizzically at the little fire for a moment, wondering at its presence. Then he turned his attention to Snape once more.

"They've gone to bed," he stated, voicing the words in a deliberately apparent fashion, although he had no qualms about his bluntness, at least not in the present frame of time. He needed to glean information from Snape.

"So I noticed," he said cryptically, and Harry took note of the fact that he did not take off his boots immediately, but rather, walked directly toward the pillows that they had messily overturned the room with, by default. He shrugged. Due to the odd set up, which he assumed had been Professor Dumbledore's idea, organization was rather hard to accomplish. Besides, come to think of it, that was Hermione's rite of passage . . . perhaps it would be in bad taste to take that away from her. He sighed. They had wasted too much time already. He walked straight towards the chair across from Snape and sat down rigidly, making sure not to make himself too comfortable. He was hoping that he wouldn't need to be there long.

Snape raised one of his thin eyebrows at Harry, and he tried to ignore the fact that he was now looking as though he had eaten a particularly large slug for breakfast. The Potions Master looked as though it were about to be sick. Harry had the most unpredictable urge, in that instant, to ask him whether his illness was just due to the fact that he was near his person, or something else, but then, that would never have been proper. He blinked several times, trying to clear his mind.

"Something in your eye, Potter?" snarled the Potions Master. Harry looked down, embarrassed.

"Erm- no, no, nothing's wrong."

"Ah." Snape leaned back somewhat. He placed his fingers to his chin in a temple, looking at Harry contemplatively. "Well, that is just as well, Potter. You see I have no intention of healing you of any passing malady, slight though it may be. It is unfortunate that your highly intelligent friend was unable to keep herself out of trouble over the summer, but rest assured that my efforts will not be forced again." Now Snape's snarl had practically grown into a smile, and Harry could have sworn that he was laughing internally in one of the rarest moments that he would probably ever undergo. He didn't want to witness it. He balled his hands into fists, gritting his teeth together tightly. He breathed in and out evenly, willing himself to control his temper.

"Is there a particular reason you are sitting here with me, Potter?" he asked, his voice laced with a dense irony and tinged with sarcasm, "because I can assure you that I- "

"What did Professor Dumbledore ask you?" he shot at him, attempting to calm himself down as every question that he had contemplated tried to force its way past his lips. He felt like pacing back and forth with nervous anxiety, but he had defined a goal, and there was no way he was retreating from it. Therefore, he simply clenched his hands together tightly and attempted to eat his words. Snape raised that cursed eyebrow again.

"I hardly think this merits- "

"Well I think it _does_ merit discussion!" he burst out, holding himself back from doing something drastic now with extreme difficulty. Snape blinked at him, while the pools of black that comprised his eyes grew oddly deeper. He looked away from him, towards the small window across from him through which bolts of lightning flashed furiously.

"You are hardly mature enough, or at the appropriate age to handle such information," he murmured in a tone that was quiet, but somehow filled with a malicious savagery.

"But- " Yet he was unable to finish, for Snape stood up quicker than he would have deemed possible, his robes of impossible black waving and billowing around him like dark flames.

"No," he said, in a tone of deathly quiet. His face was impassive, but he looked angrier than Harry had ever seen him. He leaned right up to Harry's chair, placing his hands on either side of the arm-rests. He swallowed forcefully. "I _know _what kind of treatment you underwent at your miserable relative's house. I know things about you, Potter, which would inevitably make your hair curl. I witnessed the exchange between you and those pathetic 'muggles' that you lived with, when I went to retrieve you this summer." He paused. The light slowly went out from his face, and Harry looked straight into Snape's eyes, graced by the trailing curtain of black streaks pouring around it. "You were glad to come and stay with me this summer," he deadpanned, after a moment. Harry swallowed, but he found himself at a loss for words. He could simply nod at the statement, now feeling broken. "And you wish for me to tell you the dangers of the Dark Lord's cause Potter, which your pathetic mind and body could hardly undergo, to explain in detail the reasons for our current arrangement. I hardly think it fitting to tell a boy whose mother died in order to merely allow him to breathe, that he is the reason for this forced affiliation between himself, and that person he loathes, or that he is the reason that everyone here is in danger."

Harry could not answer him. He felt as though all of the breath had gone out of his body as Snape finished, but found that what was worse was, to his unadulterated disgust, that Snape was exactly right. He felt his eyes start to sting. But still, he found that he couldn't stop himself from asking, the question pouring from him without his consent-

"Why is Abraxus Malfoy here?" Snape, as though just realizing the nature of what had transpired, leaned away from Harry's chair, stood up rigidly, and brushed off his robes. He looked down at Harry and, to his surprise, Snape's eyes flashed with what he could have sworn to be uncertainty- perhaps regret, even. The Potions Master opened his mouth, and then he abruptly closed it. Harry shook his head jerkily, a sick feeling settling in his stomach, although he himself did not know if there was anything he was trying to refute.

"I don't really understand why Professor Dumbledore would try to forge a bond between us, or why Mr. Malfoy was sent here." He took in a deep breath, and allowed his words to roll away from his tongue, into the stifling hot air around them. "I just wanted to know . . . why- exactly he decided to- " He struggled to push his words out. For a reason that he did not comprehend, his voice trailed away.

"Potter." Snape's voice was curiously blank. Harry could not look at him, and instead he stared down at his knees blankly, without knowing why. It was as though they were siphoning off one another's emotion, in a symbiosis that tied them into one, fluid, irrefutable knot. He felt completely bereft at the moment.

"Potter," he said again, between his teeth, his words sounding forced. Harry turned his head, slowly, so that he could see him. He smiled at him a little sadly, and he heard words pouring from him that seemed detached from his being,

"I know that you're right. I _have_ always been the direct cause of the destruction around me. I was never able to do anything about it, and always felt powerless against the onslaught of events." He shrugged, now looking at the blank expanse of wall to the left of him. "There is nothing that I can do about the fact that Voldemort's after me, or about the fact that he chose me as his symbol . . . I'm not even sure what sort of symbol he's looking for," said Harry in a defeated tone, staring down at his hands now, twining his fingers around each other. "When everyone told me who I was last year, it seemed as though they were looking to me as their symbol of- of strength. My whole world changed. It didn't make any sense to me. As I was growing up, I never thought that I was anything special. My relatives treated me like I was less worthy of recognition than anyone that ever walked the face of the Earth." His laugh was ironic. Then he continued, in a lowered tone, "All I ever really wanted was to be treated normally. It seems as though there's no middle ground, at least not where I'm concerned. I don't mind though," he added, as it dawned on him that he was in fact still speaking with Snape, and that the slimy git of a Potions Master was looking at him oddly, "being told that I was the wizard was the best thing that ever happened to me. I wouldn't turn back the clock for anything," he told him honestly.

Snape was quiet for a long time. Harry stood as still as a statue, not daring to believe, in the utter quiet of the room now, that he had propagated this discussion with him and told him about his life with the Dursleys. He wasn't speaking with Hagrid, after all. He didn't understand what had made him do it, and he wanted to kick himself for his actions. Perhaps, Snape was right about this spell, and he was actually creating a certain kind of connection with him through it . . . he wondered, but, he couldn't come to any sort of conclusion. All he did know, for the moment, was that he was glad that Ron and Hermione weren't here to witness this. There was no doubt in his mind that, had Ron seen him speaking with Professor Snape in this way, that he probably would have hexed him into oblivion just to make sure it was the real Harry. Suddenly he found himself wishing that the floor would swallow him.

"Potter . . . " He forced himself to look at Snape, trying to ignore the heat that was coursing through his facial muscles, lighting through the veins that comprised his cheeks. Hm. There was some merit in that. Perhaps he could think of them as though they were a science experiment . . .

"I don't know what happened then," he told him truthfully, scratching the back of his neck, which was prickling with sticky heat. "I didn't mean to do it. I know that you didn't want- " he fumbled with his words, as they ran over each other, now wishing more than ever that the floor would suck him into it.

"Potter," Snape fairly barked at him. "Be quiet, please!" Harry's head shot up. Had Snape just said what he thought he said? He didn't realize that his mouth was hanging open until Snape spat at him vilely,

"Close your mouth, Potter." He closed it quickly.

"Sorry," he muttered into his knees.

"Potter, you are- " But here Snape paused again, and Harry couldn't help but wonder why he was faltering. He was Severus Snape, the most intimidating bat that ever swooped through the history of Hogwarts, after all. He raised his head again, slowly. To his astonishment, Snape's eyes were gleaming with a shine was completely opposed to the typical loathing they held. What was in them was something foreign that Harry couldn't recognize.

"Potter, I am not disputing the way that your relatives treat you. What I am speaking of is an entirely different matter. The truth behind your history, your background, the circumstances that surround it, however, are not your fault." Harry was sure that his mouth was hanging open once again. However, he made no effort to close it this time. Snape looked as though he was struggling with his words, and he found himself almost wistfully wishing that he had a muggle camera with him. But he thought as though his ears might be deceiving him anyway, so perhaps it wouldn't even show up on the camera . . .

"What do you mean?" he asked him, just to be sure that this moment was in fact, real. Snape was scowling so ominously at him now, that it looked as though he had just drank one of his vilest potions, and Harry began to believe that it was really him, after all. He said, his voice clearing the room crisply, and, stoically,

"I would have thought that my meaning would have been obvious."

"It- it was yeah," Harry answered him dubiously. "It's just hard for me to believe that you said it. I mean, I thought that you loathed me. You always seemed to in the past." Snape's eyes snapped over to his.

"My personal feelings for you," he said slowly, his words coming out deliberately, while he lightly traced one of his skinny fingers across his lips, "are not of relevance, at this particular time. I would have thought the implications of our circumstances were perfectly clear," he said, his voice sardonic, dredging his words up from what seemed to be a well buried inside him, "unless, Potter, you are of the opinion that you are, as you typically deem yourself to be, in the happy context as to not need . . . to follow the headmaster's instructions?" His words were coming out thick and ominous.

"Of course I understand the consequences," Harry told him, slightly defensively. "Maybe- maybe we can make it work," he added, trying to keep the ray of hope from shining through his voice, which made him feel truly ridiculous. Why he would ever want to attempt to get along with Snape was a total enigma, but the potential for it admittedly existed, if he dug deep down into his complex id. He realized that now.

"You know," he added after a minute, mulling all of their problems over in more detail, "I really think that your reputation might be overrated. You really aren't the vile man that all of the students seem to give you credit for being." Snape's face instantly became darker, and an ugly flush crept into his cheeks at this statement. Harry just hadn't been able to help himself, had he? He wanted to slap his face right then. But when he turned his attention back to him, Snape began unbuttoning his cloak from its pinching, uncomfortable-looking fasten at the top of his neck, down the row of antique appearing brass buttons, completely tuning him out. He then proceeded to remove his heavy boots, placing them in front of the fireplace, on the rug. Harry could not help but noticing, how, that he did look ill, as his pale face glowed into his view before the bright flames, and he felt compelled to ask,

"When do you imagine that the spell will, you know, be forced upon you again?" Snape's mouth grew tight-lipped.

"It is a perpetual spell, if you have not yet noticed, Potter. The inner workings are too complicated for your mind to comprehend most likely. The intervals which force me into my cat appearance cannot be broken down into simple language." Harry shrugged.

"Okay." He really didn't care whether Snape wanted to explain it or not.

"You know," he said after a moment, "Hermione might want to research the spell in detail though. She's been dying to ask you about it." He paused to gage Snape's reaction, but he seemed to be either too fatigued to react, or, in the other case, he was ignoring him. Harry thought this was, in any case, probably the most opportune moment to pose the question that he was going to get.

"Did Lucius Malfoy send his brother to your house? Is that why he left?" he asked him rapidly, "Because Hermione thinks that he- " Almost immediately, Snape sat upright again, his form rigid.

"What did you ask me?" he snarled. Harry faltered.

"I- I said- " To his surprise though, Snape sighed lowly.

"It is not your concern, Potter. I owe many debts." Harry didn't know how to answer that statement, so he said nothing.

"I'm sorry sir," he finally uttered though, unable to help himself. Snape laughed bitterly. He thought it was the first time that he had ever heard that sound coming out of the Potions Master. And, it just occurred to him, that all of his plans to provoke Snape into speaking to him about the matter at hand, had completely vanished. His eyes flickered over to him again, and he found that, to his surprise, Snape had fallen asleep. Following some unknown instinct inside him, he left the room quietly, leaving him to sleep in peaceful silence.

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**_Please review, and have a great week! I'm attempting to update every Saturday tentatively, but I will put up a definite notice soon. _**


	23. Dumbledore's Pet Bird

_**A/N:**_** Kudos to Dawn Willis for correctly guessing the reason for Abraxas Malfoy's presentation in the story! **

**Thanks to everyone for your support. Don't be afraid to press the review button. I swear that I don't bite, and I love getting your suggestions. I've not decided upon a length for the story yet, but I'm comfortable with weekend updates, if that suits everyone. I will attempt to upload every Saturday or Sunday.**

**It's three o'clock in the morning right now, so please feel free to mention any mistakes to me. I don't think there are any major errors, but I don't want anyone to be confused, so just holler.**

**On to the story . . . **

**Hope you enjoy!**

**{Disclaimer: None of the originals are mine}**

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**Chapter 23-**

_**Dumbledore's Pet Bird ~**_

Harry watched his fingers rove across the bedspreads for an interminable length of time, just staring dully at the way the chipped nails, and the way in which that quality caused them to get caught on the loose threads in the blankets every now and then. He roughly swallowed down a hard, scratchy ball of something that had gotten stuck in the middle of his throat. He wished desperately that there was some way to crawl back into the cocoon of warm blankets and stay buried there, forever, but he knew that he needed to face what was about to occur. The horror of coming out into the living area to face the headmaster after what he'd done, and to perform the necessary ceremonies with Abraxas Malfoy, was absolutely unthinkable. He didn't think that he would be able to do it, and he had no idea what he should expect.

Last night, after Snape had succumbed to sleep, Harry had come across the limp form of Malfoy as he traversed the kitchen, which was linked to the bedrooms Ron and Hermione were now currently using. He had been unable, at that particular moment, to think about anything except for the unwarranted reasons for which Malfoy was among them, and his mind suctioned into Abraxas Malfoy like a leech, which was a good analogy for the barmy man, come to think of it, whose intentions were as black as a clinging little water creature. Little wonder was it, therefore, that when he awoke suddenly from the chair on which he had been dozing within bindings that were no longer existent due to Hermione's mercy, that he was extremely startled. So startled, that he accidentally tripped over the table leg that was in front of him, and sprawled to the ground, like a bumbling idiot. His glasses fell down his nose precariously, and, just as Harry was pushing them back up, his saw a blur that he knew was Abraxas Malfoy lean over him with a quivering face, and he immediately balked, reaching his hand into his robes.

"Potter, you are in no position to draw your wand against me." Harry however, noticing the look of absolute levity on the man's face, began to feel sick as he drew his wand in a lightning motion. He was invigorated by pure disgust, coursing through him like a dark, roaring rampage as he tuned into Malfoy completely, staring into the wild eyes of silver that were part of the moon, bereft of any sanity. While the man looked upward with a cackling smile like a duck, he used this sickening energy to allow his wand the joy of a wizard's abilities, and the spell, which he had barely thought or uttered, shot into Malfoy before he could stop it. Moments later, the wand clattered to the floor beside him, as Harry stared down at him in horror.

" . . . don't know how you could have used that spell, Harry," Hermione was saying. Harry shook his head as he tried to focus on her. The truth was, he didn't know how he could have, either . . . Abraxas Malfoy had been in an unlikely predicament, considering the fact that he should have still been under the influence of the spell Snape had cast to keep him unconscious. There was no reason however, for him to be viewed as dangerous, especially when his wand had been removed. Harry had just cursed him, apparently for no reason. He felt sick with himself.

"I don't know what forced me to do it," he said, his throat a bit scratchy. They were discussing the matter earnestly, because Professor Dumbledore was going to be at the cabin any minute, and Harry had no idea how he was going to explain what had occurred.

"You should have told Ron and I if you were under too much stress," she fretted, wringing her hands together, "or at least called Professor Snape into the room. I just don't understand, Harry." He was gradually growing irritated with her. She was beginning to sound like Ron's mum in her tone and manner, and it made him inexplicably frustrated, and somehow deeply disheartened at the same time. He allowed a sigh to escape his throat, and splayed his hands over his knees so that he'd have something to look at while everything this was happening. He found it to be a surprisingly nice, pleasant way to occupy himself. At that minute he was spared from answering, to his immense fortune, because Professor Snape walked into the room while he was struggling to find the correct response. He almost breathed a sigh of relief at his entrance. Hermione looked disheartened, while Harry's stomach churned as Snape ordered everyone out, save for himself, in an irate growl. He was almost glad to see him.

"Come on, Ron," she said, sounding frazzled as she grabbed him by the elbow and propelled him out of the room. She looked back at the two of them however, with an expression that told him she really didn't want to leave. Harry swallowed, and then looked back down at his fingers. As soon as they were in the living room, he glanced up at Snape, expected to be under the wrath of a furious dark wizarding enigma that could terrify students and leaving them begging for mercy in their fear. However, the professor merely stared at him with a slightly puzzled look- this made Harry unnerved.

"What made you do it, Potter?" he asked after a moment. The question was simple, and yet he had no possible idea how to answer it. All he could do, for that particular minute, was stare back at Snape, bereft.

"Well?" he questioned again, his voice becoming deeper and emitting a poignant chill, making Harry shiver.

"I- " he stuttered and then paused. He had no idea what to tell him. "I never meant to hurt him," he said, his tone soft, looking the other way. Snape hovered over him like a sweeping bat that was spurred by both hunger and frustration. The feeling, which he emitted, was not one that Harry wanted to be the target of, because he knew that a deprived Snape would only wreak a dark result on whoever happened to be in his line of vision, and he still, after all, looked rather ill. He stared straight into those dark eyes, and the lined bags that were growing steadily deeper by the day, and, suddenly, he felt deeply, deeply ashamed. He swallowed again. "I didn't know what that spell did." And, as a bat unfurling itself, Snape uncrossed his arms and stalked slowly towards him, like a tree swaying through the night, even though, Harry could not help but to think, that there was no breeze . . .

"You felt compelled to use one of the darkest spells that, even the most accomplished of wizards true to the Dark Lord have not yet mastered . . . and yet, you dare tell me that you didn't know why you were using it," he said in a low, silky tone." Harry glanced up at him fleetingly.

"I . . . that's not exactly true." His voice was pained. He scratched the back of his neck. Then he stood up and walked silently over to the window, staring out at the wide expanse of what he could only assume was absolutely nothing. Snape said nothing, in a rare form that allowed Harry, for some reason, time to think about his actions. He could still see Abraxas Malfoy and his quivering jowls, the flabby face that seemed to tremble underneath the weight of the deeply etched insanity, that Harry could imagine it carving into his body, just like a scythe, as though someone had emptied it into him . . . he was so revolted. He felt as though he were going to vomit. His breathing grew ragged.

"Potter," Snape snapped at him, rapidly coming up behind him. A pale, white hand was placed upon his shoulder. His stomach clenched tightly, making him forcefully place his hands over his navel in a jerky gesture. He squeezed his eyes tightly closed. "What made you use the spell?" he asked him softly, not seeming to notice that Harry's skin had grown clammy. Harry did not even notice the difference in Snape's tone . . .

"I- " He could not get the words out, for, unable to control himself, he doubled over and retched right at that minute. The black boots swished out of his line of vision. He sat crouched over, panting, as the world around him spun sickeningly.

_"Evanesco,"_ he heard a voice hiss, off in the distance. He heard a door open and close. A minute later, Snape was back in the room, arcing around him until he stood hovering directly over him, bat-like, once more . . . he seemed to prefer this depiction, Harry thought to himself wryly. He looked up, and realized that Snape had proffered a small glass vial, which was swarming in front of the Potions Master. The latter was wearing a look of pure repulsion.

"Drink it, Potter," he said in a flat voice, not looking at him. It looked as though he were glaring towards the abounding meadows, although he could not be sure. Harry almost chuckled, but at the moment he was too weak to issue any verbal noise. He took the glass, however, and downed the potion. He lifted the vial away from his mouth when he was finished, gasping and sputtering harshly.

"Thanks," he muttered finally, as he wiped his lip. A flush began to creep into his face. He couldn't believe he had- in front of Snape! Harry was sure that he would never live this down. Snape raised an eyebrow at him and silkily said, still looking to the left of him,

"Potter, you are a complete imbecile at times." He lithely slipped the vial back into his pocket. Harry didn't respond to his comment. He couldn't determine the amount of nonchalance that was behind it. He ran his hands along the windowsill, staring out with a forlorn look on his face that he attempted to hide from Snape. Finally, he murmured,

"He was insane." A pause-

"Of course he was acting insane, Potter!" Snape snapped at him, becoming overbearing and cynical once more, as he swept around Harry, looking as though he felt, for that moment, much more his usual self. "That is no reason to curse him with _Crysthina Agee,"_ The spell flew past his lips like a nail being spiking Harry's sore heart. He clenched his hands into fists.

"I didn't know what that spell did." Snape stared at him in apparent disbelief.

"You didn't- " he repeated slowly.

"Not at first," Harry said hastily. "Of course I was able to understand what was happening as it was occurring, if that- " and then he realized who he was talking to and amended, "I know that it doesn't make much sense, sir, but I wasn't able to control the action. He threatened me, and I drew my wand, because I had the impression that he was going to make me insane, somehow, and I was so disgusted by it. I couldn't believe that I had done it afterward . . . "

"Potter, you bound Abraxas Malfoy to his family permanently," he said slowly, as though he were talking to an extremely young child, the words rolling off his tongue like the slow twang of a guillotine as it met the neck of its culprit, "and yet you claim complete innocence of the spell which performs this ceremony," . . . he sounded incredulous, uncomprehending, and riveted by undaunted, raging fire that made Harry push back into the wall and cringe, "how is it that you are detached from your actions?" Harry shook his head rapidly.

"What I meant was," he amended hoarsely, "that the implications of it became clear after I had cast it, only after I had cast it."

"You still . . . fail to answer my question," said the Potions Master, his tone blank. There was a pause. "Perhaps- a few sips of Veritaserum would remedy this apparent inability to talk that you have recently acquired?" Harry could feel his hands trembling.

"I honestly meant what I said," he said, not looking at Snape while he rubbed his hands. The chill in the room was growing stronger. He could hear Snape's breathing very close to his person- it almost made him want to pluck his fingernails from their tendons, but then, how could he actually tell Snape what he wanted to hear? And yet, even while the words flowed across his mind, he knew that there was no other hope for his predicament. So, closing his eyes, he sullenly told him,

"I was disgusted by Malfoy. Revolted, actually. I cursed him because he was in my personal space, and I didn't know how else to respond. " He closed his eyes tightly, waiting for the inevitable reaction. He struggled with his words. "I'm claustrophobic," he said, the term ending on a weak, silvery note that dripped like a honeying sap into the enclosure. In his imagination he heard a tree falling. "And I honestly didn't know what the spell did. I just chose the first one that came into my head." Harry sat down then, terribly embarrassed. He attempted to cross his legs into a pretzel while trying to look natural, no longer trusting their overall functionality fully. He gave his head a minute jerk, throwing off something that was actually imaginary, if he would have thought about the move.

He expected Snape to leave, but the silver spurred dragon boots never left their position. The potions master, who had his back turned to him moments before, had merely turned back around and was regarding him with a dark expression filled with a depth that Harry had never seen there before. It was a strange type of puzzlement . . . but also . . . a fervent heat that didn't quite belong there, on Snape's face.

"Why in the world would you possibly be claustrophobic, Mr. Potter?" Harry did not know how he should answer this. He suddenly felt extremely self conscious of himself. Unaware of his action, he flattened the fringe of hair over his forehead in a nervous manner.

"Erm- well," he mumbled, interlocking his fingers together in rapid movements, "the Dursleys sort of kept me in confined areas- c-confined as in, locking me in my room for extended lengths of time," he iterated, feeling a bit more confident as he ended the statement. He did not want the greasy git of the dungeons to think that he was unable to fend for himself inside his own home. He could just imagine the horrible taunts that would follow him throughout the dungeon corridors after every potions class, were Snape to find out the full extent of his relationship with the Dursleys. The idea horrified him. Snape took a step toward him, with a dark scowl.

"What type of confinement?" Harry looked up at him, feeling startled by his inquiry. What did Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia's methods of punishment concern him? Why would Snape care if they chose to keep him in their cupboard underneath the stairs to get him out of their midst? He remembered telling the potions master about their reluctance where he was concerned the other night when he had mentioned- during a certain bout of insanity, without question- something about his own domestic life. Surely, though, Snape was not actually showing concern for him? Harry almost laughed out loud at the passing of this insane thought.

"Well, they use their cupboard under the stairs as my bedroom, and, well, it's not typically all that bad, you know. I mean, I've got enough room and everything," he said, as a blush started to creep into his face. "But sometimes when he feels the need to use my room as a means of punishment Uncle Vernon locks me in for a few days, and sometimes the experience makes me a bit leery of confined spaces," he said with a shrug. "But I don't think it's that bad really- I mean I never thought I was claustrophobic or anything . . . it's just that, yesterday, when Malfoy came so close, I thought that I heard- I- well, I had a flashback." Harry expected Snape to taunt him mercilessly, or to perhaps, if he had a sudden mind to, leave the room . . . in disgust . . . but he simply stood there staring at him, a look of pure repulsion etched into his face, staring at Harry as though he were an elusive slug that he had been trying to catch for several years that kept escaping.

"Sir?" he said at last, hesitantly. "Is there anything wrong?" As though he just became aware of the action, Snape turned away from Harry abruptly. His breathing was palpable in the room. Harry saw him pinch the bridge of his nose, from his vantage point at the side.

"I would suggest- " he said in a low tone which Harry could not decipher, "that you go and wait for the headmaster, Potter. There are many things which you and he will no doubt need to discuss when he arrives." Harry shrugged.

"Okay- that's- sure, yeah, that's fine. I'll just go meet Ron and Hermione, then . . . " he said robustly, feeling satisfied. "Yeah . . . " He turned and left, noticing out of his peripheral vision that Snape was glaring straight ahead of him, at the wall . . . the picture he made was quite a bit funny . . .

He joined Ron and Hermione moments later, crossing the room directly towards what had become by now, extremely familiar, trademark cushions.

"Hey Harry, what's up?" Ron asked him, looking up when Harry stood directly in front of them. "What did the git need to talk to you about?" Hermione elbowed him in the ribs. Harry swallowed, hesitating.

"He- just wanted to know why I used the spell," he said eventually, trying not to sound evasive. Ron snorted.

"Of course he did," he agreed amiably. But then," he said, peering at Harry more closely, "you don't even really know the answer to that, do you? After all, you couldn't tell either of us why you did it."

"Ron," Hermione scolded lightly, and Harry noticed that she looked her face was steadily growing flush. "That's really not your business," she said more softly, scrutinizing her friend carefully. Harry had the uncomfortable feeling that he was being x-rayed, and he was caught by a surge of regret, as she gazed into his face. After a moment her look grew serene, giving him the impression of gentle oceanic breezes. "Is it, Harry?" He did not know how to answer her. His brow furrowed as he thought about her statement, and then, when her empathy hit him like a rock, he looked down at his knees. For some reason, he could not help but to wish for a fleeting instant, that he was being interrogated by Snape once again. There was something comforting about the way his pitch-black, bottomless eyes penetrated him, like cool blocks of granite unaffected by what was in their line of view. Nevertheless, he was grateful for Hermione's interference.

"The headmaster's going to be here any minute, Harry," she said, her voice still gentle, making him pull himself into a standing position. She was right. Professor Dumbledore was going to be here at any minute and he still had no idea what he was going to tell him. He was momentarily distracted, however, by Snape, as he swept into the room and came bearing upon them in a sweeping, voluptuous black panoply of sheer robes. He came to an abrupt stop, staring down at the three of them with a look of cool, yet disregarding calculation. But they said nothing, Harry hoping that he would merely leave after they refused to appease him. He did not appear satisfied by this decision though.

"Potter!" he barked, after a minute, "I wish to see you outside, _now."_

"Oh," he said, somewhat taken aback. "Alright, then." He stood up. "See you in a few minutes," he mumbled to his friends, and then, trying to ignore the churning feeling of relief that somehow grew into his gut, he rather guiltily followed Snape outside. When they were just beyond the small double door, though, the potions master seemed to entirely forget about his presence, but rather begin to walk back and forth in a rapid, fiery pace of demonic origins. His pale face, ignited by the sun, was ghosting over the grounds as though it were detached from his figure. Harry just stood there watching him as he paced in front of him, bemused. Finally Snape stopped, and looked at him as though he were the last thing on Earth that he ever wanted to set his eyes upon.

"Do you have any idea what you have done?" he asked him quietly, at the same time sounding dangerously irate. Harry could not answer that. "Abraxas Malfoy is a captive of Lucius Malfoy, Potter. Surely your brilliant mind has been able to determine that the essential component in all of this is, after all, Lucius Malfoy." His mind gave a distinct and piercing jolt. He could almost hear a train stop in the distance. He collected himself.

"You mean- that Lucius Malfoy did send his brother to you, after all?" he asked him quickly. Snape's thin mouth curled into a sneer.

"Surely even you Potter, could not be so dim-witted. I would have thought that between the three members of your famous trio, including that notorious Gryffindor Granger who is known primarily for intellect among her admirers," he added in a sardonic fashion, looking upward cagily, as though trying to escape Harry in some quirky way that made sense to Snape, "you would have been able to determine that only one person would have sent anyone by the last name of Malfoy into our midst." Harry's mind was pumping ideas a million miles a minute. Beneath all of his musings, however, he came to the conclusion that Snape was right . . . a fact which he marveled at, for a single moment.

"You're right, sir . . . I- I mean," he stammered, staring at Snape, somewhat surprised by his own admission, "I'm sorry that I cast the spell. I hadn't meant to. . . " he trailed away. He was unable to finish his thoughts anyway, for Snape thrust him up against the wall with his pale, spidery hands. He imagined that the enormous veins creeping along the translucent skin were actually made out of a sugary glucose, rather than adrenaline which belonged to the notorious potions master of Hogwarts with whom Harry was so solidly, strongly familiar . . .

"Potter, the fact that you cursed Lucius Malfoy's brother automatically implies that you are comprehensive of the possible scenarios, those that could take place due to his reinvented relationship to the Malfoy family." His words were low and dangerous, igniting a sort of ominous fuel which Harry was afraid to touch.

"What do you mean?" he asked, fighting to keep his voice steady. Snape's hands were pinching the skin of his shoulders.

"The Malfoy family is one of the most upstanding families in wizarding history, and as such, they take a dignified and admirable pride in tradition," Snape said softly. Although Harry could easily have told Snape what he thought of traditional wizarding families if the Malfoy family was the best example, he refrained.

"Abraxas Malfoy is an insane wizard, a significant fact, Potter, in light of the circumstances. He could become extremely_ useful_ to the Malfoy family at the moment," he said, emphasizing the word useful, pausing. "A familial bonding ensures that status is taken into account. It also implies a deep, unbreakable tie to those within the spell's confines so strong that it cannot be reversed." He released his hold on Harry, allowing him to brush himself and stand up straight.

"Confines . . . " Harry repeated slowly. "I'm not sure I understand." Snape's lips tightened into a wire of taut muscle. He looked as though he were refraining from cursing Harry with extreme difficulty.

"You have created a tie between Lucius Malfoy's family and Abraxas Malfoy. Essentially this means, Potter, that he will be forever entwined with Lucius and his immediate family members. Because the family takes so much pride in their blood status, tradition will undoubtedly be adhered to, and this bond will enforce slavery upon Abraxas Malfoy. For the end of his days most likely, he will be seen in no better light than a House Elf. Additionally, Potter, the headmaster has taken it upon himself to personally attempt to remedy the issue, by performing certain ceremonies between yourself and Abraxas of a still unclear nature." Harry was beginning to feel sick, but he refused to allow his inner anxiety to show. His face grew pale.

"I- I didn't know," he said weakly. He understood that there was no way he could possibly argue the issue, and that he was no longer able to uphold his case with any dignity or pride about him. The horrible truth sunk in, and Harry had to accept it now. "I really didn't, sir," he said, looking off into the sunny grounds far into the distance, "I'm not sure why I chose that spell. I had never used it before. I didn't have any clue what it did." Snape was quiet. Harry found himself momentarily grateful for the fact that he was allowing him time to reflect, and in the silence, he found that he was able to finally look at his actions squarely, and understand all of the consequences of what he'd done.

"But that really doesn't matter, does it?" He turned to Professor Snape, and flashed him a small, sad smile. "I merely need to take everything into account, don't I? That's all that matters at this moment." He turned away again, not really seeing anything that was in front of him. He heard grass rustling.

"You said before that Professor Dumbledore wanted us to form ties through _Invectus Septimum,_ in order to help fortify the resistance that Lord Voldemort would meet, eventually, when he pursued me." Harry laughed ruefully, ignoring the way Snape hissed at his verbal enumeration of Lord Voldemort's name. "But you haven't turned into a cat for over a week. We've done alright, I suppose, with all of the magical enchantments placed on the abode, and worked through Professor Dumbledore's general idea of working together in harmony. But the necessary bond still isn't there," Harry said, unable to keep the discouragement and disappointment out of his tone. "So it's all for naught, isn't it? I managed to form an accidental bond between wizards that should never have accessed one."

He looked up at Snape then, apologetic. His face was inscrutable.

"I'm sorry that I couldn't form the bonds that I should have formed with you, sir." For the first time in his life, he actually felt extremely sorry for letting Snape down, although, where the idea of a letdown had come from he couldn't imagine. . . Snape opened his mouth to speak, his eyes glinting strangely. Before he could say anything however, a new, rare, shining, but missed, and not uncommon voice, shot straight towards them, across the yard . . .

"Actually, Harry, I don't think you did." Harry looked up with a start. There, striding across the small enclosure was the headmaster, his bright, purple robes billowing around him through the sunny heat of the day. Harry could not help but to think that he had stepped right out of a parade, but he quickly banished the thought. He looked up at Snape, and noticed that even his mouth had fallen open at the headmaster's arrival.

"H-headmaster. What do you mean?" His voice sounded strange. Snape looked down at Harry. Dumbledore chuckled lightly. The sound brought a faint smile of nostalgia to Harry's lips.

"What I mean Severus," he said in a low and careful, but altogether neutral tone, "Is that I am the one who originally sent Abraxas Malfoy to the cabin. And, I am pleased to say, that my plan seems to have worked splendidly." And then, quick as a flash, he winked at Harry. He almost hadn't caught the movement.

"What do you mean?" Snape asked again, in a rough jerk.

"What I mean Severus," said Professor Dumbledore, "is that, bright a man as you undoubtedly are, and despite your keen sense of aptitude, and highly tuned observational skills, is that you were as deceived by my plan as Harry and his friends. Abraxas Malfoy is not Lucius Malfoy's brother at all, but a mere ruse of mine meant to reinforce the sense of empathy between you." Snape opened his mouth to argue, but here Dumbledore beckoned and called, quite gaily,

"Come out, Grappler." He turned and smiled at the two of them, just as, out of the bright sky of blue against the spiraling trees of black, an enormous bird, the size of which Harry had never before seen, flew. As it circled above them for a few moments, he could not help but to note that its wings appeared to be made out of some type of soft blue leather, which arced over its graceful neck, up to its head, which just happened to be white. It was probably the size of Dudley. Harry could only stare at Professor Dumbledore.

"A Vaundle is actually quite frightening to most," he explained cheerfully. "You see they tend to be- er, well, shall we say that they can be a bit acquisitive. They are truly the most fortunate creatures to have, however, when you need a job completed, which Grappler has done quite well I daresay, haven't you?" Harry looked from the size of the small hands sticking out of the top of the bird's wings vertically (seeing what Professor Dumbledore meant about its acquisitive quality) to Professor Snape, who looked, for the moment, just as stunned as he.

"You- put this- this thing into our midst, in the form of Abraxas?" He stared at Dumbledore as though he had grown to heads. Harry had to muffle his laughter. "Why?"

"To see you two getting along of course," Dumbledore said cheerfully. Snape's face turned a deep, ugly shade of puce. Harry was reminded of Uncle Vernon's expression when the first owl from Hogwarts came to his well contained, perfectly manicured yard on Privet Drive. Snape was sputtering angrily.

"You- you- " Without another word, Snape stalked mutinously back into the cabin, muttering unintelligibly. Harry thought that he saw him slip a hand into his robes, reaching for his wand, and thought for a minute that he might turn back around and curse Professor Dumbledore. However, when he did not come back out, and he was alone with the headmaster, he felt that they were probably fairly safe. Dumbledore chuckled under his breath.

"Come come then, Harry. We have much to discuss. There is no doubt that you have a million questions to ask me." He placed one of his wizened hands upon Harry's shoulders, and steered him towards the cabin, after Snape. Through the open door, through which Snape had just entered, he saw Ron and Hermione ogling at the sight behind them. As if just realizing that his bird had not left the premises, Dumbledore turned and said lightly,

"Move along, Grappler. I have business to attend to here. I will be along shortly." The bird, to Harry's astonishment, bowed deeply, and for a minute, cocked its head towards him, as though it knew that Harry was thinking about it. Without wasting any more time then, it alighted, and swooped away into the distance. Harry watched it until it was indistinguishable from a dark cloud hanging over the cabin.

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**Thoughts? Little button is just beneath the ending =)**


	24. Usurped Tirade

**A special thanks goes out to **_**oncecelestialbeing**_** for her review on the last chapter. **

_**A/N: **_

**NOTE: This chapter is told from Hermione's point of view. This is a pivotal point in the story, and is somewhat experimental. Please message me with questions.**

**I want to thank all of the new followers of this story, and to iterate again how much your support means. As I work through the story the knowledge of an audience that appreciates my work carries me along. **

**I do want to express as well though, how terribly much your reviews mean. Even if you drop in just to say 'good job' or, 'I like the chapter,' your words are priceless, because I know that I am not writing for a ghost audience. I am grateful for all of the story followers, but please, if you like this enough to favorite it, send me a line. It gives me so much more fuel when I know that I'm actually writing to someone out there with thoughts and human qualities.**

**Thank you.**

**{Disclaimer: All of the original characters belong to JK Rowling}**

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**Chapter 24-**

**Tirade Usurped ~**

There were so many heavy feet in the house that Hermione did not think that she would ever be able to attain a moment's peace . . . however, perhaps this was entirely beyond the immediate issue because she was not actually able to rest. For several weeks now she had been attempting to allow herself the necessary peace and gentle solitude that would lull her into the bliss of deep, relaxing sleep. It seemed to be a lost cause though, and she felt that at this very moment she would pull her hair out- every thick, unmanageable strand of it.

She just had a feeling that there might be some detrimental effects from the situation that had taken place last year, and she was characteristically right. After all, it was not common for a witch- even a young student at Hogwarts- to curse herself without knowledge of what she was invoking. How cruel was the result, when she discovered that her own muggle halter top had become a part of her person, and that there was no documented reverse to the spell. When she had cast the spell _Imbeliedus Miserables_ she had assumed that, not only would the curse target her opponent, but also that there would be a countercurse for it.

On the latter she was correct, it seemed, but the scenario in which she finally made this discovery proved to be one of utter humiliation. It had also reversed the pleasure that she always experienced when learning. If she were to be perfectly honest with herself, she would rather _not _have learned this, than allow the tragedy of her situation to overtake her to this- unquestionably mortifying degree. She almost grew red all over again when she thought of the way Professor Snape had quietly suppressed his cynical mockery. The silent jeering that gleamed in his eyes as he reversed her spell was probably worse than any vocal portrayal of his true thoughts.

There was little that Hermione could do to remedy the situation at this exact moment, and she knew it. She would forever be forced to bear the memory of her faux de pas, in spite of the fact that she was going to be within Snape's proximity every single day throughout the coming school year. It almost seemed as though an act of fate was bearing down upon her in some sort of cruel, malicious game of mockery, making her take potions with Professor Snape every day during her time at Hogwarts. For an instant, she wished that she could cry. Nevertheless, she would need to perform at her utmost best, in order to maintain the Outstanding that she had attained last year. This would be an utter nightmare of a year for her, irrevocably and infallibly.

"Hermione?" She jumped, startled, when Harry poked his head through her door.

"Oh. Hello, Harry." She patted the bed beside to allow him comfort, although she really did not wish to have the conversation that she had a feeling might evolve out of his visit. She brushed a few of her sweaty strands of frightful waves away from her face. He closed the door quietly and walked into the room in a more serene and a more fluent manner than she had ever witnessed before in his movements. Watching him, she couldn't help but to think that he was behaving exceptionally well mannered. Suddenly the irony of the whole situation struck her, and she couldn't help but to giggle softly. He looked at her, amused.

"What?"

"Oh, nothing," she said. "It's just that I never thought you would pick up any of Professor Snape's character traits, Harry," she said almost ruefully, in a semi-quiet tone. He seemed a little embarrassed by her admission.

"What makes you say that?" She smiled at him with genuine gratitude that she didn't really understand, which swept over her quite suddenly.

"I suppose you might as well sit down." He stood where he was though, uncertainly looking down at her with consternation, and she began to feel slightly nervous. While he stared at her, she felt the sweat drops on the back of her neck begin trickling. She got up abruptly, and made her way towards the door, inching slowly backwards until the feel of the door-handle was within her sweaty grasp.

"I think I'll just go and get another cup of tea. Have you ever tried a black muggle variation called '_Orange Pekinos_?' It's really quite good. I never thought- "

"Hermione, wait." Harry took a step forward, and stepped into the way of her escape, blocking the door. His hand fell over hers and closed around it awkwardly. She looked up at him with an expression of innocence sparkling across her features.

"Harry, I don't know what all of this is about, but I really think that I should- " But he would not relinquish his hold upon her, watching her penetratingly. She found herself to be somewhat nettled by his reaction, watching her fingers play with her blouse. There was a pause-

"What?" She huffed out, after a moment. Harry opened and closed his mouth.

"I- " He faltered, seemingly at a loss for words, during a transition that allowed Hermione to shake his hand away as she turned the doorknob slowly. "I know that there's something you're not telling Ron and I," he said, quickly changing track.

"Harry, it really isn't your concern." He opened his mouth again, but closed it quickly. He looked slightly puzzled, and Hermione thought that she saw a slight trace of hurt pass over his face. A faint pang coursed throughout her system.

"Harry, I didn't mean . . . you know, it's not that I don't appreciate what you're trying to do," she said, her voice gentler. "It's just- " She bit her lip, catching herself before she could reenergize the issue too much. It had already gotten enough attention. She felt so dark, inside her locked, shielded self, that there was no way anyone had the ability to reach into her façade, past the trembling walls of her forte that she had built around herself. She could not allow her secret to slip, or to reveal any more, and maintaining a low charge was steadily growing more difficult. She forced herself to swallow and to completely ignore the immediate circumstances, turning to face Harry, with a short breath.

"I can't imagine what you mean," she huffed out at him. The polished collectedness on its surface might have been able to cause a crystal glass to shudder. He sighed.

"Alright, Hermione," he stated, the words like butter on his tongue, soft but unsatisfied. He seemed willing to let the matter go, for the moment, but his face told her that he was not happy about it.

Hermione felt terrible about hurting his feelings, but she would not allow Harry the satisfaction of knowing what had become one of the secrets that was too painful for herself to bear. She could not, and would not allow anyone to discover the truth that she'd kept so well hidden. At the moment her mind raced with all the manipulation of a well defined Slytherin, and she swallowed down bile that rose in her throat as she reflected upon her own nature.

"I'm sorry, Harry," she said in a tone that was so low that it somehow could not be salvaged, and Harry thought he heard a depth to it that he'd never before heard in her tone. It was as though it could break, and as though something in her own voice had cracked, and been broken if that was possible. She ducked her head then and rushed past him, finally opening the door and letting it close. He stood there staring out after her, without a word coming into his throat. He could say nothing, feeling the keen thumb of his hyper heart.

When Hermione had imagined their situation together as the headmaster had sat in her living room that summer, she had been extremely excited. After all, she hadn't seen Ron and Harry for over two months, and although she enjoyed being at home with her parents, the magical world held more of a comfort foundation. The constant danger involved in being associated with The-Boy-Who-Lived had never mattered to her, because he had always been such a valuable friend that she didn't care about the other implications. After being brought to the cabin, Professor Dumbledore's mission helped her to keep happily busy once she had finished all of her summer homework and gave her an opportunity to be useful. She knew that deep down, the problem that had propagated had nothing to do with any of them, and that Harry, rather than being a deterrent, would be an asset. She bit her lip. As she glanced back at the door, she realized that she had probably made a mistake, and involuntarily began to reach for the door handle once again.

But Harry had already opened it, and now stood there looking down at her with a brief surprise. She opened her mouth, completely at a loss for words. He peered at her closely for a minute, and then without questioning her reluctance, then took her arm, and steered her into the living room. There was no one there except Ron right then, and for some reason Hermione was grateful for the fact that he was sleeping with his mouth wide open. Behind her, she heard Harry chuckle underneath his breath, his laugh laced with a flaky, enigmatic sarcasm that almost caused her to laugh in turn.

"Come on," he muttered, still chuckling. She followed him out into the sunny rolled up meadow land, which seemed to be bunched up beneath their humble abode as though it had been squashed together at the top. They were on a point that overlooked forestry, which encircled them in every direction from a slight dip below them. Harry let out a sigh when they closed the door, as though he had been savoring after this for ages. Hermione leaned back against the woodwork, frowning slightly. She understood exactly how Harry felt, after being trapped in the cabin all day. Although it was quite cozy, and she cherished the warm fire on occasion, it was, after all, a bit small for four people. She found herself sliding down to her knees. She felt a faint rustle in the grass beside her, and knew that Harry had become a part of the woodwork with her as well. She shook her bushy brown head. The time to tell him what had been going on had finally come.

"I'm sorry," she said again, putting her hand out before her so that she could look at her wand. It had always given her comfort. For some reason, she had lost her voice. In a gesture that was a bit uncharacteristic for him in her mind, he patted her hand awkwardly, albeit gently for him.

"It's okay." Harry didn't sound nervous or apprehensive, but simply concerned for her. Then, before she knew what was happening or had the strength to pull the reigns back, stopping the flow of words she said,

"I think I'm being possessed." Immediately after saying this, she turned to look at him. For a minute he only stared at her, blinking slowly.

"What do you mean?" he asked her deliberately, careful to keep his tone neutral. She shook her head, uncomprehendingly, hair falling down over her eyes. She brushed it away quickly.

"I'm sorry, but I think that Voldemort's possessing me, Harry." He blinked, and she hurriedly withdrew from him, feeling ashamed of herself. A deep flush crept over her features while she turned away from him, hugging her knees up to her chest.

"I don't know when it started," she said in a lowered tone, her voice harsh and gritty. She felt as though she hadn't had anything to drink for a long time.

"Hermione- " Harry began, his voice uncertain, but steady. She shook her head again, as though she were trying to jerk away a fly.

"I know that I should have told you, Ron, and Professor Snape, but . . . I wasn't exactly sure . . . I didn't want to raise unnecessary suspicion, and, it was only periodic. I'm still not one hundred percent- "

"You should have said something to us," Harry cut in, sounding upset. She shrank back from him further. "I mean, at least you should have said something to me. Of all people, Hermione, why didn't you tell me? You don't think that I would have understood?" He was looking at her with an expression intermingled with slight hurt and confusion. She put her head down to her knees.

"I don't know, Harry. I know that you're right, and, well, you're my best friend. I wanted to tell you, but I just didn't . . . " Harry shook his head as her voice trailed away, his face taking on a look of consternation. He worried his lip with his teeth.

"How do you know? How can you be certain, Hermione? Do you know what it feels like to be possessed?"

"Well, of course not!" She shot at him, her voice growing harsher with a stressed anxiety. "How could I know what it feels like? I'm just assuming . . . "

"But why?" Harry asked, and the tone of his voice made her grow silent. "Why are you assuming?" There was a real note of distress in his voice that made her look away from him.

"I- I don't know, for certain . . . but I'm pretty sure." Harry sighed. He ran both of his hands through his hair jaggedly. He was silent.

"Alright," he said at last. "Alright. We'll just go to Snape with your suspicions, and you can tell him the changes that you think indicates the possession. He said that he would be back after speaking with Professor Dumbledore, so we should be able to speak with him soon. In the meanwhile, just- take it easy, okay?"

Hermione forced herself to smile at him reassuringly.

"I'm fine, Harry. Really."

"Alright. I'm going to gather some of the vegetables and fruits in the garden for dinner. Ron will be happy with the new additions of beans." He gave her a wan smile. Since they had been at the cabin it had taken just a few different variations of Hermione's spell work to create a precise framework for growth. A plethora of potatoes, grains, legumes and even tendrils of what Ron had personally supposed, with a candid repulsion, would become sprouts now grew beside the originals. Harry knew that Hermione was extremely proud of the accomplishments that she had made, and he himself actually felt a tinge of pride at his friend's handiwork swell within him.

"I'll see you later, Harry." He smiled at her lightly. She looked into the eye of the sun, completely ignoring him as he turned and walked away from her . . .

For almost the entirety of the day after Harry left her to go and prepare dinner, Hermione sat exactly where she was, just thinking to herself. Although several days had passed and she had left the difference up to the headmaster to decipher, no one had come to her aid. She could not help but to feel as though she had been short-changed in some way, even though the notion was completely absurd. No one could possibly have known that she thought Lord Voldemort had possessed her, and, after all, she was still not completely sure that was the case.

No matter what her scruples, after night had fallen she was forced to discover that no matter what the ramifications there may be, she would need to go inside, promptly. The reason for her newfound ability to make her first decision on this issue, was now striding towards her across the grass in the form of Severus Snape. Through the dark, the billowing cape rushed out behind him in a manner that made understanding completely void, so that his shadow raced ahead of all her thoughts and hovered over her like a cloud. She swallowed hotly, placing her hands atop her knees as she raised her head to meet his face. His black eyes narrowed at her malevolently.

"Granger," he said in a low hiss. She attempted a faint smile.

"Sir." She nodded in a respectful gesture. He beckoned to her carefully, one slow finger revolving throughout the air in front of her.

"Come," he said in a soft, ominous tone of voice, and, without a moment's hesitation, she removed herself from her seat upon the grass, and followed him. There was nothing that she could do to assist this situation anymore. Whatever would come into action, at this minute, would come to pass. It was too late for her to go back. They walked about four feet past the cabin before Snape uttered a quiet,

_"Lumos." _He was completely silent after this iteration, as they walked through the small enclosure of grass surrounding their arrangement, until they reached the meadow's edge. They were overlooking the dense forestry. Hermione quietly wondered if he meant to bring her into the forest. But, before she could muse about it any further, Snape finally spoke.

"Potter tells me that you feel as though you are being possessed by the Dark Lord," he said in a quiet tone. Hermione did not answer him, wisely maintaining her peace for the moment.

"You are in a fortunate position," he continued softly. "At the exact minute that he mentioned what you have been holding secret for so long, I did not, out of pure good will, send you to the headmaster with his suspicions." Hermione still said nothing. She had the distinct impression, as she listened to him, that his generosity had the potential to be stunted by anything she had to say. They continued on however, and before she answered him they reached the deep, enigmatic dark of the trees ranging about in various directions, their long, wide branches cascading around both of them. She shivered involuntarily.

"I wonder why it is," said Snape, sounding extremely insincere to her ears, taking one of the nearest brambles into his thin palm, "that there are a plethora of Gryffindors who seem to overextend their ability to tell the truth. Perhaps," he said, his tone lowering as he turned to her with an ear, "You would actually have done better in Slytherin."

"No!" she cried, unable to stop her words as they flowed out from her without permission. He raised a thin eyebrow. "That's not true," she said in a quieter tone. She took a deep breath, realizing angrily then that he just had manipulated her. She fought to keep her voice respectful, and then said, in with forced, collected control,

"I didn't say anything Professor Snape, because I wasn't completely sure that I was being possessed, and I didn't want to raise unnecessary suspicion if I was mistaken." His face loomed at her eerily within his wand's faint glow, the face a mask of white.

"Ahhh, but you were ever so keen to tell Mr. Potter of your misfortune, were you not?" She lowered her gaze.

"I- I didn't really want to tell Harry," she said, faltering. "He- had already suspected something was wrong when I spoke to him earlier. If he hadn't have drawn it out of me, I wouldn't have said anything about it."

"You do realize," Snape said slowly, and she averted her gaze as the gleam in his eyes prospered, swirling around like a fine jewel that meant only danger, "the seriousness of this accusation Ms. Granger. You do realize that if this is in fact true you have endangered all of us, particularly myself."

"Yes," she said, her voice soft, unable to keep the slight tremor from creeping into her voice.

"Then I think that it is absolutely essential that you tell me everything that you know about this possible possession, wouldn't you agree? That means that _everyone_ should be made fully aware of the circumstance, before you can endanger us any further." Hermione opened her mouth to respond, but before she could say anything, the air in front of her began to shimmer. A thin glow seeped into their space, completely extinguishing Snape's wand light. Although she knew what was happening before the entire calamity of the situation struck, the molecules in the air dotted her vision, as though they had been turned into some kind of magical white dust.

The pitch black air that encircled the forest grew lighter, until the shimmering took all precedence, and surpassed all of the thoughts that either she or Snape may have had. In fact, at this minute Snape was unable to say anything, and she had, quite definitively, no inkling as to the nature of his thoughts. For, before her eyes the Potions Master had been sucked into a small space the size of an envelope. For a split second, she thought that he had been swept away from them. And then, a minuscule black cat crawled out from the fold, and stepped out in front of her. The forest grew dark once again.

"Professor?" She bent down, her hands upon her knees, looking into the black, onyx eyes that had shrunk in their diameter. "Professor Snape? Oh, I'm sorry that you were unable to finish your tirade." As the cat growled at her, she suddenly clamped a hand over her mouth, horrified at the words that had come out of it, looking chastised.

"I'm sorry." Her face turned beat red. She splayed her hands out towards him, in a gesture of reproach that she hoped would somewhat amend for what she'd said. "I really didn't mean that. Oh, you poor little creature." As she reached a hand forth to slowly stroke him, Snape growled at her in a very familiar, low guttural sound, that, for some twisted, ironic reason, she found she had missed for a few days. She cooed gently to him.

"Oh, you must have had a terrible time over this past week, Professor. I'm so sorry to have caused you so much trouble." She was unaware that pasted upon her face was an enormous smile, because Snape's malevolent black eyes alone could not communicate through the oblique dark fur lacing around the tiny features.

"You are so adorable," she said. "Come on, let's go into the house and get you some milk." Then, without further ado, she reached down and pulled the small black vehicle of spitting disgust into her arms, ignoring every sound of adamant protest from the cat with absolute ease of skill.

"You must be starved. Harry and Ron are going to enjoy having you back with us. I'm sure they missed you as much as I have these past few days, Professor. You may not know it, but you are truly irresistible when you are like this. " Snape growled again in a stream of malicious force that was quite clear in its meaning, moving in her arms with an obviously dark intent. But Hermione ignored him comfortably, and, the stress lines from the past few days falling away from her pinched face, she huddled him closer to her and carried him back up to the cabin. She watched with delight the shaded glow coming from inside it. Perhaps, after all, working with Snape to create a mutual bond wasn't such a bad idea. It was possible that she was being possessed, but the problem would be put away into the cockles of her now warming mind for a little while longer as she strode up to the cabin with renewed vigor, calling out softly,

"Harry, Ron, please get me a cup of milk, and some warm soup." The door opened, and Ron meandered through it, poking his read head out.

"But I thought you'd already- " He paused, noting the new addition Hermione was holding that was spitting at him furiously in her arms, straining every way that he could to get out of her grip.

"Uhhh . . . right." He went back inside, and Hermione pulled Snape closer to her chest.

"It's alright, Professor. You can rest easy now, and place your responsibilities to the side for a little while." She couldn't help the small flutter of her lips that accompanied this statement, as she thought of his harsh reprimands from a few minutes before. "If you'd like," she added, glancing down fondly into his tiny face, "perhaps I can iterate the problem to you when you're eating." She patted him softly on the back as he hissed at her with a hot fervor that did not seem to mean anything, "You do seem a little undernourished," she said, sympathetically. And then a notion dawned upon her, lighting up her face brightly.

"Perhaps you can sleep with me tonight."

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